


all my reckless dreams, all my restless hours

by mrsenjolras



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Posh harry, Smut, becks liam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 08:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15408591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsenjolras/pseuds/mrsenjolras
Summary: “Harry Styles, from the band One Direction, was asked recently who his celebrity crush is and he said you,” the reporter repeats, and if Harry wasn’t so mortified he would be indignant since he wasn’t actually the one to say that, Louis was.“Well,” Liam starts, and he still seems a bit confused, though Harry thinks he can see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “that’s quite flattering, isn’t it? Harry Styles is well fit.”Harry’s mouth drops open in surprise, and his heart starts pounding in his chest.[Or: the Posh and Becks AU this fandom needed]





	all my reckless dreams, all my restless hours

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh, it's finally done! this fic has been in progress off and on for about the past year, and i'm so glad that i finally get to share it! a few thank yous:
> 
> first, to the 1dcollab mods for running a great fest, i'm so glad i was able to participate!  
> second, to amanda for holding my hand through the entirety of this fic, and to jessi for giving a great beta job and pushing this into its final form. also to anyone else i've ever spoken to about this, because it wouldn't be here if it wasn't for all of you.  
> and finally and most importantly, a huge thank you to my artist, shy, who created beautiful artwork for this fic, all of which can be seen [here](http://morfiends.tumblr.com/post/176203227458/all-my-reckless-dreams-all-my-restless-hours)
> 
> title is from the song all my love by george ezra

Harry’s at a party--well, an after-party is probably the more appropriate way to describe it. There’s celebrities all over, paparazzi following close behind trying to grab candid shots of famous people interacting. It’s a bit strange, to be talking to someone about how much he had to wee during Adele’s acceptance speech but how he didn’t want to go because it might seem rude, then all of a sudden there’s someone standing there snapping photos. Harry supposes it’s just one of those things about fame he’ll never truly understand, despite having been in the spotlight for a few years now. 

He’s not sure where Louis and Niall got off to. They had all arrived at the party together, fresh off their wins and totally buzzing, but after the first round of celebratory shots Harry had been pulled away by some of his other friends and lost track of his bandmates. He’s sure they’re fine, getting into some trouble somewhere, but he should also probably find them at some point because that trouble might need damage control and Harry is always the best at that. 

He goes up on his tiptoes, scanning the crowd for a familiar sight of bleached blond hair or sharp cheekbones. He’s a bit tipsy, he’ll admit, though not the most he’s ever been. They have an early flight the next morning, jetting off to America to do some writing for the next album, and for once he’d like to not be hungover for that flight. He’s just about to give up, not seeing any glimpse of Niall or Louis anywhere, when his eyes alight on possibly the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen. 

The guy doesn’t look like he’s much older than Harry, and he’s got a leather jacket thrown on over a plain white shirt and some ripped jeans. It’s no different than what most of the people here have on, but the man pulls it off effortlessly, his hair styled perfectly off his face and his neat stubble framing his jaw beautifully. 

Harry’s staring at the man, he realises vaguely, but he also can’t seem to tear his eyes away, especially not when the man laughs at something someone says to him and his head falls back, mouth open in a wide smile and eyes crinkled up so much in mirth they’re practically invisible. He’s still watching the man when he feels an arm fall across his shoulders. 

“Whatcha looking at?” Louis asks, practically yelling into Harry’s ear, and Harry can smell the alcohol on his breath even at their distance. Evidently, when Harry had lost Louis and Niall, they hit the bar hard. “Find someone you like?” Louis continues, voice turning teasing. Louis fancies himself a killer wingman, and he’s always trying to hook it up for Harry. He has a slightly better than average success rate, though Harry likes to think most of those successes were down to Harry himself, not Louis’ dodgy pick-up lines. 

“Yeah,” Harry says back, “leather jacket. Got any idea who he is?” 

Louis braces his arm more fully on Harry’s shoulder and leans up on his tiptoes to scan the crowd. When his gaze lands on the guy Harry’s eyeing up, his face morphs into one of shock for a second before he laughs out loud. “Harry, seriously? You don’t know who that is?” 

Harry looks again, but other than the attraction pooling in his gut the longer he looks at the man, there’s no feeling of recognition. “No, is he a big deal?” 

Louis laughs again. “Harry, I know you don’t pay much attention to football, but I can’t believe you don’t recognise the biggest star since Beckham. That’s Liam Payne, centre midfielder for Man City. Come on, Harry, you’ve really never heard of him?” 

Now that Louis mentions it, the name sounds vaguely familiar, like he’s heard Robin or his dad talk about it sometime, but despite Harry’s general enjoyment of footie he’s never really paid any attention to teams or players. He shrugs, saying, “Maybe? All I know right now is he’s well fit.”

Louis laughs at him again. “You _would_ notice a nice bum before recognising Britain’s best footballer.” Before Harry can protest that he hadn’t even gotten the chance to see Liam’s bum, Louis is using his arm around Harry’s shoulders to tug him closer to the bar. “Come along, now, I’ve left an Irishman with some pints and who knows what he’ll have done with them by the time we get back.” 

Harry goes with Louis, shooting one last glance back at Liam before focusing completely on the bar in front of him, where Niall is standing with their drinks. They have fun that night, and Harry doesn’t think of Liam much afterwards, but when he finally falls into bed at far too late an hour the last thing he thinks of before slipping into a dream is the image of Liam, when Harry had sent that last glance back, looking right back at Harry with a small smirk on his face.

*

Life goes on as normal; well, as normal as it can get for three boys living a crazy pop star dream and touring around the world. Harry doesn’t think about Liam too much after the first night he saw him, though he will admit the few times he thinks of him are with his hand around his dick, thinking about the cut of Liam’s jaw and how nice it would look dripping with Harry’s come. So, he thinks of Liam once every two or three days -- whenever he can get away for fifteen minutes of private time, something that’s become precious in the four years since they came off X Factor. 

Harry’s pretty sure Louis had forgotten about the party, though, until they’re in a hotel room in Europe somewhere during promo for their latest single and Louis flips the television over to a footie match. “Oh, look, Haz,” he says, gesturing the remote at the screen, “it’s your boyfriend.”

“Huh?” Harry says, looking up from his phone. Niall’s sitting next to him, looking just as confused. 

“Harry’s got a boyfriend?” he asks, frown on his face. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he directs to Harry, and Harry looks back at him incredulously. 

“Because I haven’t got one,” he says. “Louis, what are you on about?” 

“Look!” Louis says, gesturing to the screen again, and when Harry glances over, the camera is zoomed in on Liam’s face, a slow-motion reaction of something happening off screen. Liam’s brows are knit together in frustration, and his mouth is moving like he’s yelling something--evidently, whatever it is he’s looking at, he’s not happy with it. 

“Harry’s boyfriend is Liam Payne?” Niall asks, looking shocked. 

“No!” Harry practically shouts. “I’ve never even spoken to him. He’s just--at that party--I--” he cuts himself off, feeling flustered and not enjoying the twin smirks Louis and Niall are sending his way. 

“I see,” Niall says slowly. “Not your boyfriend, but you _want_ him to be.”

“No, I don’t,” Harry says quickly. Perhaps too quickly, because Louis raises an eyebrow at him and Niall looks unimpressed. 

“Not what you said at that party, mate,” Louis says, and Harry feels himself blush slightly. 

“I didn’t say anything at the party. I just said I thought he was fit.”

“Harry’s got a crush,” Niall sing-songs, and Louis lets out a cackling laugh. 

“Shut up,” Harry mutters, sinking low into the couch cushions. He looks at the telly again. Liam’s running around, being all _sporty_ and looking amazing, and Harry groans out loud when he sees that Liam’s bum looks absolutely exquisite in his uniform shorts. He supposes he does have a bit of a crush, though it’s totally minor. Miniscule. 

Niall and Louis fall on top of him suddenly, cuddling him in the aggressive yet caring way only they can. “Not to worry,” Louis says confidently. “We’ll sort this out for you, young Harold.” 

Knowing Louis’ history, that probably shouldn’t make Harry feel better, but, for some reason, it does. 

*

Louis’ intervention happens on the fourth interview of the afternoon, that time of day where Louis starts to get ansty and wants to stir up some mischief somewhere. The interviewer is fine, a bleach-blonde woman from somewhere in America whose grin turns slightly predatory about halfway through her questions. She leans forward conspiratorially, like she’s about to divulge a secret. 

“Now, boys, here’s something the world is dying to know: any celebrity crushes?” 

Harry avoids rolling his eyes. It’s a question they get asked all the time, and he’s sure at this point the world doesn’t give a shit what celebrity Harry wants to date. He can only say “Rihanna” so many times before it gets ridiculous. He slumps back on the couch a little, turns to Louis with a pleading look, wanting him to answer this question and give Harry a slight reprieve. Louis shoots a sharp grin back, and starts speaking before Harry realizes exactly what that grin means. 

“Harry’s got a good one,” Louis says, and Harry wants to die, especially as the interviewer leans in even further, eyes glinting. 

“Oh, yeah? Who is it?” 

Harry really wants to die. He knows what the next words out of Louis’ mouth are going to be--and Niall can tell too, based on the way he’s started snickering into his shoulder from Harry’s other side. 

“Liam Payne,” Louis says, and continues when she looks confused, “the footballer, he plays for Manchester City in England.”

“Harry’s bloody obsessed with him,” Niall chimes in, and Harry covers his face with a groan, sinking down on the couch.

“Stop,” he whines into his hands. The other boys and the interviewer just laugh at him, and they move on quickly after that and wrap up the interview in short fashion. When they shake the woman’s hand, she smiles at Harry gently. 

“Sorry if that was a bit much, with the whole celebrity crush thing. For what it’s worth, that guy will probably never see it, I mean, this is a pretty local interview, and I’ve never heard of him before,” she says, trying to soothe Harry. Harry smiles at her and nods, but in his head he’s thinking that she obviously has no idea the reach of Harry’s band’s fanbase, and just how passionate they are about his personal life. 

*

Harry sees the interview a couple of weeks later. He’s been bombarded by links to it in tweets from his fans, so he figures he should probably watch it. When he clicks through on the link, though, he almost closes out of the tab immediately. 

The video is of Liam, is the thing, and based on the title ( _WATCH: Liam Payne responds to Harry Styles’ crush!_ ), Harry’s not going to like what he’s about to see. But the masochist in him makes him press play anyway. 

It’s taken at what looks to be a post-practice press line. Liam’s clad head to toe in Man City gear, and his hair is slightly wet, either from sweat or a shower, Harry can’t tell. He looks _really_ good. 

“Liam!” an interviewer calls out off-screen. “Have you heard that One Direction’s Harry Styles has said he’s got a crush on you?” 

Liam looks flabbergasted. There’s the sounds of laughter and a few catcalls in the background--presumably from his teammates. “Sorry, what?” Liam says, after a minute or two. 

“Harry Styles, from the band One Direction, was asked recently who his celebrity crush is and he said you,” the reporter repeats, and if Harry wasn’t so mortified he would be indignant since _he_ wasn’t actually the one to say that, Louis was. 

“Well,” Liam starts, and he still seems a bit confused, though Harry thinks he can see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “that’s quite flattering, isn’t it? Harry Styles is well fit.”

Harry’s mouth drops open in surprise, and his heart starts pounding in his chest. Liam starts to move away from the press line, but the reporter calls out one last question before he leaves. 

“Would you say that the crush is mutual, then?”

Liam shoots a wide grin back over his shoulder, one that leaves Harry breathless. “Sure, why not?”

The video ends, and Harry is left staring at a blank screen for a long time afterwards. 

*

He doesn’t know what to do about it, is the thing. He’s not sure if Liam was being genuine, that he really _could_ like Harry back, or if he was just playing along for the cameras. For all Harry knows, he could have gone back into the locker room and laughed with his teammates about the desperate pop star who wants to get in his pants. 

Harry doesn’t know Liam at all, so he hopes that Liam’s not that cruel. Something about him tells Harry that he isn’t, though Harry isn’t quite sure what. Maybe it’s the way he had looked genuinely shocked that Harry said he fancies him, or the way that on Harry’s third watch of the video he started to notice the slight blush that appears on Liam’s face when he processes the information. It could all just be wishful thinking, of course, but. 

_Sure, why not?_

Those words echo around Harry’s head for hours, following him from when he was sitting alone in his hotel room, through his session at the gym and his shower after and sitting as Lou did his hair and makeup and through the performance he and the boys gave on some European talk show, through it all, the back of Harry’s mind is saying _sure why not sure why not sure why not_. 

Louis and Niall notice that something is off with him, he can tell. They’ve been shooting him questioning looks all day, but he’s been pretty good at avoiding them. After the performance and interview, he’s not so lucky. They all pile into the same van together, heading back to the hotel, and after Paddy slips into the front seat and gives the driver the go ahead, the other two boys turn to look at Harry. 

“Alright,” Niall starts. “Out with it. What’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” Harry tries, though he knows it’s futile. These boys know him like the backs of their hands at this point. Usually he’s appreciative, likes knowing that they can always read him and know what he’s feeling, since words are sometimes difficult for him when he wants to describe his emotions. Now, though, he hates how easily they catch onto his lie. 

“Nice try,” Louis says. “You’ve been acting off all day, and don’t think your avoidance maneuvers went unnoticed, either. Come on, Haz, whatever it is, we just want to help you out.”

Harry sighs. “It’s just,” he starts, then he sighs again before continuing, “it’s silly, and I don’t want you to laugh at me.”

“Harry,” Niall says, “we’re not going to laugh. Not if it’s really been bothering you.”

“Promise?” Harry says skeptically. 

“Promise,” the boys say in unison, and Harry stares them both down to gauge if they’re being serious or not. He reckons they mostly are, so he takes a deep breath before he says,

“Someone sent me a video on Twitter, well a lot of people sent it to me actually, but it was an interview with Liam Payne? And someone said that I had said that he was my celebrity crush and then they asked him if he _returned_ the crush and he said ‘sure, why not’ and I don’t know what that means and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I watched it,” he lets it all out in a rush, and he can tell it takes the other boys a minute or two to work through it all. When they finally seem to process it, twin smiles break out on their faces. 

“You promised not to laugh!” Harry says quickly, his voice gone up a couple octaves. 

“No one’s laughing!” Louis shoots back. “We’re just--happy for you, Harry.”

“Happy for _what_ , though? I don’t even know what it _means_!” he’s bordering on shrill, now, and he can see Paddy wincing slightly in the front seat. It looks like he’s smiling, too, and Harry narrows his eyes at the back of Paddy’s head. He can’t trust anyone now, it seems. 

“Pretty sure it means he returns the crush, mate,” Niall says, and Harry whips his head towards the blond. 

“How can you _know_? Like, what if he was just saying it for the cameras, how do we even know he likes _boys_?” 

Louis laughs outright at that. “Harry, I honestly cannot believe you’re so disconnected. I know you like to _unplug_ , or whatever it is, but you can’t have missed Liam Payne coming out as bisexual. It was, like, major news. He’s one of the first footballers to come out while still actively playing.”

“Oh,” Harry says, a bit dumbfounded. How had he not heard of that? Maybe he had, parts of it ring a bell, but he supposes he never connected the dots. “Huh.”

Paddy snorts in the front seat. Harry glares at him and kicks at the back of his seat a bit. “Don’t laugh at me,” he whines, and everyone in the car does in fact laugh at him. He pouts more. He doesn’t know why he surrounds himself with people who are so _mean_ to him all the time. 

“Oh, come on, Hazza,” Niall says, yanking Harry into an awkward side cuddle, their seatbelts making it difficult to get comfortable. “I think you should get Liam’s number somehow, send him a message. That way you can know for sure if he’s interested.”

“How do I even get his number?” Harry asks, still slightly sullen. “I don’t think I know anyone who knows him.”

“Harold,” Louis says, “have you forgotten that you’re in the world’s most famous boyband, and that there’s a whole team of people that we pay to do whatever we need them to? Surely they can track down Liam’s number, or his management, or something. Or you could always slide into his Twitter DMs,” Louis teases, and Niall laughs, but Harry is distracted, thinking up a plan. 

Hm. Twitter. That could work. 

*

When Harry gets back to the hotel, he finds Liam on Twitter--@Real_Liam_Payne--and quickly hits follow. What then ensues is three hours of total agony as Harry waits for Liam to follow him back--if he even _will_ follow Harry back--and studiously ignores the way all the fan accounts he follows are typing in all caps about Harry’s recent follow. He winces a bit, noticing that many of them are mentioning Liam directly, and sends a thought out to the state of Liam’s notifications on his phone. When Harry had followed Liam, he noticed that while Liam has a fairly sizeable amount of followers, it’s only a fraction of the number on Harry’s account. He wonders if all the notifications about Harry following him will encourage or discourage Liam from following him back. He sincerely hopes it’s the former. 

He distracts himself by reading through some of Liam’s tweets. Liam doesn’t tweet all that much; Harry supposes it’s probably not as important for his career as management is always reminding Harry social media activity is for his. It’s mostly tweets about interviews he’s done, a few talking about his past matches, some replies to a fan or teammate. It’s all rather sparse, Harry thinks, though there is the occasional gem that makes Harry’s face break into a big grin. Things about dropping pasta all over his house or how much he loves his mum or how Justin Timberlake makes him smile. 

He’s pulled away from wondering if Liam likes guys like Justin Timberlake--which, who _doesn’t_ , but Harry is nothing like Justin Timberlake so if that’s what Liam likes then Harry definitely doesn’t have a chance--when his phone buzzes with the notification that Liam has followed him back. 

Despite the fact that Harry has been sat on the bed in his hotel room for hours waiting for this, he throws his phone away like it’s burnt him when he sees the notification. He stands and begins to pace, tugging his bottom lip between his fingers and pulling at it. He’s never been this nervous when it came to flirting or relationships before. Flirting comes naturally to him, and he’s normally confident enough that even if he strikes out with someone it doesn’t pull him down and he can usually build a friendship out of it. That’s how he met Nick, after all. But something about Liam feels different from anyone he’s been interested in in the past, even though he barely knows Liam, and it makes butterflies rise in his stomach. 

_Ha_. Butterflies. In his stomach. How appropriate. Harry laughs to himself for a pun well made, then laughs _at_ himself for acting all ridiculous, and picks his phone up again. He quickly pulls up a DM between him and Liam, crafting a message carefully and reading it over several times before he forces himself to hit send. 

_**Hey!**_ it reads, _**Just wanted to apologise for all the craziness. Didn’t really expect it to get quite this mad off a simple comment. Hope it hasn’t been bothering you too much! x H**_

It doesn’t take long for the little check to turn blue and for three dots to pop up, indicating that Liam’s replying. Harry wonders if he too had been waiting nervously like Harry had, or if he had just been scrolling through his timeline when the message came through. 

_**Hahaaaa it’s fine mate! Reckon its normal stuff on ur end! Plusss im not doing 2 bad when u say im fit hahaaa ;)** _

Harry finds himself ridiculously endeared by the way Liam types. Harry’s been accused of being slightly robotic when he talks online--and sometimes when he talks in person, but he really can’t help it. It’s nice, to see a message from Liam and feel like he’s really getting to know him, even through a screen. It makes him feel comfortable enough to take a risk with his next message. 

_**Glad it didn’t scare you off :) I’m not on Twitter much, but maybe you could text me sometime? x H**_ , he writes, and he tacks his number on the end of it. He bites his lip, suddenly nervous in the wake of his moment of bravery. He drops his phone on the bed and forces himself to leave the room without it, lest he drive himself crazy waiting for Liam to respond. He goes to find Lou and Lux instead, to distract himself for a few hours.

When he gets back to his room later, after playing with Lux for a bit and getting dinner with Lou and some of the other crew, his phone is still where he left it. He putters around the room a bit, stripping off his old clothes and brushing his teeth before he finally lays down on the bed and picks the phone up. There’s a few notifications there--a text from Nick, a missed call from his mum that he makes a mental note to respond to tomorrow. At the bottom, there’s a message from an unknown number. 

_**Hey its liam! This is deff gona be easier than twitter looool xx** _

Harry bites down a smile. He decides to text back in the morning, something Gemma said to him once about making people wait for it ringing in the back of his head. Harry’s usually not been good at that--delaying gratification, and whatnot--but he decides to try it this once, and puts the phone down on his bedside table before tucking himself in to sleep. 

Before he actually falls asleep, he can’t help but bury a grin into his pillow at the thought of the boy on the other end of the phone. 

*

Harry does text Liam back in the morning, and he’s pleased as punch when Liam texts him back around midday. They swap messages throughout the day, Harry finding breaks between tour rehearsals and interviews to send off random thoughts about their security guards or the people interviewing them or some Netflix documentary someone had recommended and that he wants to watch that night. He would worry about being too much--he’s always a bit worried about being too much, been burned before by people who didn’t want the things Harry wanted--but every time he checks his phone again there’s text waiting for him. Liam sends him things about his dog, about the crap that’s on telly that makes Harry long for England more than anything else, about what all his teammates are up to while they’re on their training break. 

Harry likes talking to Liam. He finds it easier than talking to most; he’s perfectly chatty around those he’s comfortable with, and can always make up a speech on the spot for an award or to thank the fans during the middle of a show, but he’s more withdrawn around people he doesn’t know well. Something about being thrust into the spotlight before he was fully out of the throes of puberty, or having everything he says or does splashed across tabloids, no matter how mundane it may be; whatever it was, it had hardened him a bit. But Liam seems to be able to break through his walls immediately, and it both thrills and terrifies Harry in equal measure. 

He’s found himself a relatively private corner during a break in rehearsals, and he’s grinning down at his phone at the message Liam had just sent, when Louis drops down next to him. He quickly locks his phone and puts it away before turning to Louis with an innocent smile. “What’s up, Lou?”

“I dunno,” Louis says. “What’s up with you?” His eyes are narrowed, and they keep darting back and forth between Harry’s face and the pocket of his jumper where he had shoved his phone. 

“Nothing,” Harry says. “I’ve been with you all day.”

“But have you really?” Louis shoots back. “Every chance you get you’re somewhere on your phone. Is something going on?” The suspicion on his face has shifted slightly into something approaching worry. “Is your family alright?”

“Yeah, they’re all good,” Harry says. “I’ve just been talking to--um.” He cuts himself off before he says Liam’s name, though he can feel his cheeks heat a bit. 

“Talking to who?” Louis asks, a smirk growing on his face. Harry’s phone beeps in his pocket, and both he and Louis stare down at his stomach for a second before Louis practically tackles him, shoving his hands into his pockets to try to grab Harry’s phone.

“No, Louis!” Harry yells, trying to fight Louis off as best he can, squirming and batting at his hands. It must say something about their regular behaviour that not one member of their crew bats an eyelash at the two of them wrestling. Harry gives it his all to keep Louis from getting his phone, but Louis has always been squirrely and he snatches the phone right out of Harry’s pocket with a triumphant shout. Harry tries to grab it back from him, but Louis rolls out of his reach, quickly unlocking the phone because of course Harry has no privacy in this band and Louis knows his phone’s passcode. 

“Liam Payne!” Louis gasps, looking back at Harry with wide eyes. “Texting you about Mary Berry and soggy bottoms? You slag!”

“Shut up!” Harry says, finally grabbing his phone back. He reads the message from Liam quickly and can’t help the smile that crosses his face. When he looks back at Louis, there’s a knowing look on his face. Harry lets out a breath. “I messaged him on Twitter last night, okay? He gave me his number and we’ve been texting since. It’s not anything, alright?” 

“Alright,” Louis says, but he doesn’t sound fully convinced. He does leave Harry alone, though, for the most part. He still gives Harry knowing looks when he runs off somewhere to check his phone, but he doesn’t say anything, which is a small blessing. Harry’s pretty sure he tells Niall at some point, too, since Niall starts smiling at him whenever he sees Harry on his phone, but he doesn’t approach either. The two of them seem to be content to leave Harry to his own devices for now, which is rare for them; they’ve been living out of each other’s pockets for years now, and lost all sense of personal boundaries years ago. They know all of each other’s personal business, _especially_ when it comes to relationships, but Louis and Niall don’t push him to talk about Liam, even when the two are texting so regularly it feels weird to Harry if a day goes by and he doesn’t receive a message from Liam. It’s rare, but it also makes Harry feel like whatever is going on with Liam is special.

*

Two weeks later and Harry and the lads have finished tour rehearsals and are gearing up to start the first leg of their tour. They’re starting out in Australia, the furthest away from home, and worryingly for Harry, the furthest away from Liam. 

They’ve been talking near constantly since that first day, and Harry has quickly come to rely on his conversations with Liam. They’ve still never spoken on the phone, only texted, but Harry feels like Liam provides something like shelter for him. Their lives are so different, so Harry can vent about their tour schedule or their management or something dumb written in the tabloids, and Liam is there to listen. He understands a little bit--he’s not exactly unknown, though his fame doesn’t match the fever pace that Harry’s does--but mostly he responds to Harry’s whining with sympathetic emojis and _**im sorrrryyyy**_ s that make Harry feel ten times better. It’s so nice, to know that Harry can grab his phone and Liam’s on the other end, usually responding quickly to whatever Harry sends. 

Harry’s not sure how the change in time zone will affect his chats with Liam; it’s hard enough for him to keep in touch with his own mum, he’s not sure if the guy he’s been talking to for only a few weeks will want to stick around while Harry is quite literally on the other end of the globe. And it doesn’t help that Liam’s training break has finished, so he’s now either training full time or playing matches, and he isn’t as free as he was when he and Harry first started talking. Harry’s a bit scared about what’s going to happen when tour starts up, if their relationship is just going to dry up and wither away without the constant communication they’ve established. 

The night before they’re set to fly to Australia, Harry’s sat on the floor of his bedroom, surrounded by half his closet and attempting to figure out just how many pairs of pants he’ll need to bring for the next three months. He should be done by now--usually he’s better about packing--but he keeps getting distracted, mind wandering to thoughts of Liam. 

As though Liam knows Harry is thinking of him, Harry’s phone buzzes through with a message. _**whats up h??**_ It says when Harry opens it.

_**Packing. We leave for Australia tomorrow.** _

_**omg im well jealoussss i wanna go surfing!! will u go to the beach for me** _

_**Sure thing xx**_ Harry sends, and then he pauses for a moment before sending another message through. _**Can I still text you when I’m down there?**_

_**if u stop texting i’ll fly down there myself and see whats up** _

Harry can’t stop the helpless grin from crossing his face. He returns to his packing, this time more enthusiastic with the knowledge that he and Liam will be fine, that they’ll find ways to bridge the distance. He starts to let himself feel the excitement for tour starting up that had been pushed down by his worry over Liam, and it feels really, really good. His phone buzzes with another message. 

_**get lots of sleep b4 ur flight, and text me when u land. Miss u already H xx** _

Harry nearly laughs out loud, the giddy feeling in him increasing even more at the thought of Liam caring about how much sleep he gets, about making sure his flight is safe. It feels good, he thinks, to have someone care about him like that. Not that others don’t--his family, of course, and all his mates--but none of them give Harry a warm feeling from his head to his toes. And they most definitely don’t make Harry think about cuddling up with Liam in a warm bed, comfortable and sated after several rounds of athletic sex. And it’s thoughts like that that should probably worry Harry, make him wonder if he and Liam are moving too fast, but then he remembers that he and Liam aren’t moving anywhere _at all_ , since right now they could be classified at most as close friends. 

Harry groans, and forces himself to focus on packing. It’s too much to think about, especially with a 24 hour flight ahead of him the next day. 

*

He doesn’t text Liam when they touch down in Sydney, though he intends to. They’re rushed straight off the plane to the car to the hotel, and Harry crashes pretty much as soon as he sees the bed in his hotel room. He falls asleep immediately, with the thought that he’ll text Liam when he wakes up. When he does wake up, however, Mark is shaking him awake to go for his workout. He manages to get through that and breakfast and a bit of a cuddle with a sleepy Niall before the jetlag hits him again and he needs to go lie down. When he gets into bed, he checks his phone, and sees a new message from Liam. 

_**Hope u got in alright haz. Text me when u can xx** _

Harry goes to text back, but his eyes are so bleary that he can barely find the right keys with his fingers, and he lets out a frustrated noise. He can’t be bothered to try again so he just hits the _Call_ button and brings the phone to his ear. It’s only after it starts ringing that Harry realises that he’s got no idea what time it is in England right now, and that he’s never actually spoken to Liam on the phone before. He’s just about to start worrying about it when the phone clicks and a “Hello?” comes through the line. 

“Um, hi,” Harry stutters out, voice sounding rough and thick with sleep. “Sorry, I didn’t ask if this was okay--”

“No, it’s totally fine,” Liam cuts him off. “It’s, um, really nice to hear from you.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes. “What time is it there?”

“Uh,” Liam says, and Harry hears some rustling on the other end of the line. Is Liam in bed? That brings a host of images to Harry’s mind that he can’t exactly process in his exhausted state. “It’s about 1:00.”

“In the afternoon?” Harry asks, brow furrowing. He can’t really keep track of time zones, but he’s pretty sure that’s not how they work. 

“Nah, in the morning,” Liam replies, and Harry makes a shocked noise. 

“Shit, I didn’t mean to wake you up, or keep you up,” he says, but Liam’s already making disagreeing noises in Harry’s ear. 

“I told you, it’s fine. I wasn’t sleeping. I’m just glad to hear from you, but you sound exhausted.”

“Probably because I am,” Harry says, huffing out a laugh. “Jet lag is a bitch.”

Liam hums sympathetically. “I’m sorry about that. How’s Australia, though?” he says, his voice turning more enthusiastic. “I’ve only been a few times, but I absolutely loved it. The surfing is sick.”

“We haven’t really done anything yet,” Harry says. “We got in and I fell asleep and this morning I went to the gym and now I’m back in bed.” Liam laughs at that. Harry thinks it might be the first time he’s heard Liam’s laugh, and it sends a warm feeling all through his body. 

“To be honest, that doesn’t seem too rough, mate,” Liam says. “I would love to just lay in bed all day.”

“Heyyy,” Harry whines. “That’s not _all_ I do.”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Liam says, indulgently. 

“Dunno why I’m talking to you,” Harry mutters, half speaking into his pillow. “All you’re doing is making fun of me.”

“Aw, babe,” Liam says, and Harry’s heart flutters at the pet name. “I’m sorry.” There’s laughter in his voice, but Harry ignores it because Liam just called him _babe_ and he’s never enjoyed the pet name as much as he does when it comes in Liam’s rich voice. 

“It’s alright,” he says, before he cuts himself off with a loud yawn. Liam laughs.

“You should go to sleep, Haz,” Liam says. “You can call me again tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” Harry nearly breathes, half asleep but still happy at the prospect of speaking on the phone with Liam again. 

“Yeah,” Liam replies. “You can call me anytime, really, Harry.”

Harry grins. “Okay,” he says. “Goodnight, Liam.”

“Goodnight, Harry,” Liam says before he hangs up, and though Harry is exhausted, it takes him a while to fall asleep, mind caught up in thoughts of Liam. 

*

Harry loves Australia. He always has, ever since their first trip down there on their first album tour. He’s not sure if it’s the weather, or the people, or just the general _attitude_ that the whole country has. It makes him feel like he’s going to buzz right out of his skin, running around on stage like he’s a maniac and only coming down after a night out with the lads or a trip to a tattoo parlor, the buzzing running away from his veins the longer the tattoo gun buzzes along his skin. 

He sends Liam a photo of his new tattoo, a large birdcage on his ribcage, and Liam sends him back two crying-laughing emojis. He smiles, and feels calm. That’s the other thing--the parties and the tattoos and everything help him to calm down, but so does talking to Liam. In fact, that might be the thing that calms him down more than anything. Every night after the shows--even if he doesn’t get back from the afterparty until two or three in the morning--he calls Liam and Liam always picks up. 

They talk about everything and nothing, about their days and their lives and their hopes and dreams. Harry tries to articulate what it’s like for him to be on stage, feeling like he’s on top of the fucking world, and how hard it is for him to go from that to a quiet hotel room and an empty bed. Liam responds in kind, telling Harry about how hard he’s worked to get to where he is, finally in a place where he feels confident in himself and his place on the team, yet there’s always a lurking fear that he’ll be injured or something else will happen that will tear it all away from him. 

Harry feels like there’s something about the distance, about not seeing Liam’s face when they talk, about laying in his bed in the dark with only his phone as a connection between him and Liam, halfway across the world, that makes it easier for Harry to open up to Liam. He finds himself sharing things that only the other boys know, or things that even they don’t know and only his mum knows, and some things that even she doesn’t know and that Harry keeps to himself. It’s freeing, in a way, to be able to say these things out loud and have someone on the other end of the line just listening, occasionally murmuring words of support but mostly just staying quiet and letting Harry work through his thoughts and feelings verbally, even if it takes a while for him to be able to string his thoughts into words. It’s freeing, but at the same time it’s terrifying. 

It’s terrifying, because Harry _hasn’t_ known Liam all that long, and though they have these chats they really _don’t_ know each other all that well. They speak on the phone but they’ve never spent time in each others’ presence, never even been in the same place at the same time except for that first night at the party. There’s a constant niggling thought at the back of Harry’s mind that Liam could easily turn around and spill all his secrets to the press without a second thought, that he could laugh and say Harry is too much and never speak to him again. The most terrifying thought of all is that Harry doesn’t know which would be worse: to have his most closely held secrets out there for the whole world to read and judge, or for Liam to stop talking to him. 

*

Harry’s lying in the back lounge of the venue, shirtless and waiting for the air conditioning to cool his overheated skin. Mark had him working himself on the treadmill until his legs felt like jelly and then through the weight rack until his upper body was in the same state. He feels like utter crap, and he wonders how Liam can do this every day of his life. Liam’s told him about his training schedule, and it absolutely boggles Harry’s mind. He’s just debating whether it’s worth it to expend the energy to grab his phone and text Liam about it when Louis walks in, eyes glued to his own phone. 

Louis glances up, sees that Harry’s taking up most of the couch space, and instead of sitting on one of the other chairs in the room like a normal person, he plops himself right on top of Harry’s lower back, wiggling around until he feels comfortable and still mostly focused on his phone. 

Harry groans. “Lou,” he says, “gerroff.”

Louis just hums noncommittally. “ _The Sun_ says you and Liam Payne are dating.”

“Huh?” Harry says, mostly into the couch cushion. He’s given up on trying to get Louis to move and has accepted his fate--that might be part of the reason why Louis keeps doing things like this to him. 

“ _The Sun_ says you’re dating Liam Payne,” Louis repeats. “Are you?” 

“No,” Harry says. “We’re just good friends. We talk a lot.”

“Hm,” Louis says. “That’s what the close anonymous source says. ‘ _Liam and Harry have been talking non-stop for the last few months, and they’re totally smitten. They haven’t exactly put a name on their relationship yet, but it’s definitely more than just friendship,_ ’” he reads, and Harry gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

“Louis,” he says slowly, and then he rolls over, and Louis lets him without much protest. “Are you the anonymous source?” 

“Fuck no!” he says, laughing. “I’m not an idiot. But they’re not far from the truth, so I figure it’s either someone on tour or someone Liam knows.”

“I don’t,” Harry starts, then pauses. He tries again. “I’m not sure Liam’s told anyone about us. And he’s usually at home when we talk, so. Unless it’s his dog, it’s probably someone on tour.” 

Louis hums again, and he’s already tapping on his phone. “I’ll tell Paul. He’ll figure out who it was, if it was someone here.” He finishes his message and then abruptly drops his phone, turning to look at Harry intently. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Harry says slowly, a bit confused. “I’m all good. Why?” 

“Because people are going to start talking about you and Liam, even if it’s just a rumour, and I want to make sure you’re going to be able to handle that. That it won’t get to be too much for you.”

“Liam and I are friends,” Harry says slowly. “If anyone asks, I’ll say that, and I won’t be lying.” He knows that’s the underlying question Louis is asking--if Harry would be okay about lying about his relationship with Liam. It’s something Harry’s had to get used to, the amount of things they have to cover up about themselves or the lives they live. He may not be the most open person in the world, and he may like to keep certain things private, but he hates lying and tries not to do it when he can help it. He especially hates lying to their fans, and Louis and Niall know that. 

“Okay,” Louis says. “That’s fine, but do you _only_ want to be friends with Liam?” 

“Louis,” Harry laughs. “You’ve been teasing me about my crush on him for literal months now. I think you know the answer to that question.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“No,” Harry says. “We talk about everything else, but not that.” He sighs a little, casts a glance over at his phone where it rests on the coffee table. “I speak to him every day, and it feels like I’m two steps away from calling him my boyfriend, but we haven’t bridged that gap yet.” 

“Aw,” Louis says, sympathetic. “I think you should maybe talk to him about it. I mean, you’re a great mate, but I wouldn’t be talking to you everyday for hours on end if I wasn’t interested.”

“You talk to me everyday for hours on end _now_ , Lou. Are you trying to tell me something?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

“I’m paid to do that,” Louis says, deadpan. “And notice how when we’re on breaks I cut myself off from you.” Harry rolls his eyes--that’s patently untrue. Sure, they aren’t all in each others’ pockets while on break, but it’s strange to go from being around each other all the time to nothing, so they always call and text and Snapchat each other on breaks. “But anyway, don’t change the subject. We’re talking about your romantic prospects.”

“I don’t know if it is a romantic prospect.”

“So _ask_ ,” Louis says, exasperated. “Are you that scared?” 

Harry nods meekly. “I really like him, Louis,” he says quietly, and Louis’ features go soft. He flops over from where he’s sat on Harry’s legs, wrapping Harry up in a tight hug. 

“He’d be fucking stupid not to like you back, Haz,” Louis whispers fiercely. “And if he turns you down I’ll fly back to England myself and rip his balls off.” 

Harry laughs, though it comes out a little wet. “Thanks, Lou,” he says, and Louis just holds him tighter. A few minutes later, Niall walks in the room. He observes the scene quietly, and then without a word lays on top of Louis on top of Harry, completing their group hug. None of them say anything else, and Harry closes his eyes and lets the warmth of his boys calm him down. 

*

Harry calls Liam that night after the show. He’s not exactly sure what he’s going to say to Liam, unexpectedly nervous after his talk with Louis earlier in the day. But it would feel even weirder not to call Liam, and it would definitely draw suspicion from Liam’s side, so. Better to just bite the bullet and ring Liam up. 

When Liam picks up the phone, there’s a lot of noise on his end. “Harry?” he says. 

“Yeah,” Harry responds, suddenly acutely aware of the silence in his hotel room. “Is this a bad time? Sorry, I can--” 

“Harry,” Liam shushes him, and the noise on Liam’s end is quieter now, like he’s gone into another room. “I told you, you can call me anytime. It’s fine.” 

“Oh,” Harry says, awkwardly. “Um, what’s up?” 

“Nothing much. I’m home, visiting my parents. My sister brought her little ones round, so you know how it gets. Total chaos.”

“Sounds fun,” Harry says, smiling at the thought of Liam, home with his parents and his two sisters, probably wearing something comfortable and soft. The image of small children climbing all over Liam, making him their personal jungle gym and shouting, makes Harry smile even wider. If he maybe imagines that the children have riotous curls like Harry and soft brown eyes like Liam, that’s neither here nor there. “They’re Nicola’s kids, yeah?” 

“You remembered,” Liam says, sounding warm and relaxed and like Harry could curl up in his voice and live there forever. “Yeah, Violet and Rose. It’s a bit cheesy, naming them both after flowers, I guess.” 

“I think that’s cute,” Harry says. “Am I keeping you from them? I can go, if you want.”

“I don’t want,” Liam says quickly. “It’s fine, honestly. What did you want to talk about?” 

“Oh, um. There was an article, out today. In _The Sun_. It says we’re dating.”

There’s a pause, on Liam’s end. It goes on long enough that Harry would worry the call had dropped, but he can still hear the sound of Liam’s breathing down the line. Eventually, Liam breaks the silence and says, “Is that a problem?”

“No!” Harry says. “I mean, it’s not a problem for me. You know, people write rumours about me and other people all the time. I just don’t want it to become a problem for you.”

“It won’t,” Liam says seriously. “Ever since I came out people have been trying to connect me to a boyfriend. We know the truth, yeah? That’s what matters. Right?”

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly, relief flooding over him. “That’s what matters.”

“Harry--” Liam starts, but then there’s noise on his end of the phone again, a woman’s voice. Probably his mum, or one of his sisters. The sound goes muffled, like Liam’s covering the phone. Harry picks at a loose thread on the bed’s duvet, waiting for Liam to finish whatever he’s saying. “Harry, I’m sorry,” he says, coming back on the line, “but I have to go now. We’re about to eat.” 

“That’s fine!” Harry says, keeping his voice cheerful. He is a _bit_ disappointed, since they usually get to talk for longer. He’s also wondering what Liam was going to say to him just then, before they were interrupted, but he supposes it can wait. For now. “I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?” 

“Of course,” Liam says, his voice sounding sure. It makes a warm feeling spread in Harry’s stomach, the same one that comes around whenever Liam answers the phone like he was waiting for Harry’s call. “Get some sleep, alright? Talk soon.” He’s gone, after that, and Harry lies back against his pillows. 

He’s tired, sure, but he can’t seem to follow Liam’s advice and fall asleep. He picks up his phone again, deciding that it’s maybe time he checks his social media accounts again. He’s been so wrapped up in his conversations with Liam every night that he hasn’t really kept up with his accounts, though he usually remembers to send off a Tweet thanking the crowd after each show. He pulls up Instagram now, because he likes it a lot better than Twitter anyway. He’s scrolling through mindlessly, smiling at a picture his mum had posted of her new cat and liking a few of Nick’s pictures from his holidays, when a post makes him stop short. It’s something Liam had posted, and it must be recent, because in the picture Liam’s smiling at the camera as two little girls climb all over him. It’s his nieces, though Harry’s not sure which one is which--one is hanging off his back like she wants a piggyback ride, and the other is sat on his knee, her face half turned towards him like she’s saying something. It’s a lovely photo, Harry thinks, because Liam looks soft and comfortable. _Saw these munchkins today!_ is the caption Liam chose, and Harry smiles and taps the like button before he can help himself or think of the potential consequences. Liam’s words from earlier ring in his head. _We know the truth. That’s what matters_. 

Harry sets his phone down, rolls over, and falls into sleep. 

*

When Harry was still in school and dreaming what the life of a famous person would be like, he had never thought they would spend so much time in airports. They can really only ever get away with tour busses in the States or continental Europe, and the rest of it is spent taking short little flights between cities. It’s how they got through the tour in Australia, and now they’re meant to be going to Japan, except there’s bad weather and they’ve been stuck in the little private lounge for the past several hours. They’ve already helped themselves to all the complimentary snacks and drinks and played countless rounds of I Spy; needless to say, Harry’s going a bit stir crazy when Liam calls him and he sneaks away to a corner--the only amount of privacy he can get in the room.

“I didn’t realize Japan could have weather like that,” Liam says when Harry tells him of the apparent torrential downpour that’s keeping them from leaving for Tokyo. 

“What?” Harry asks, a bit incredulous. “Why wouldn’t it?”

“I dunno,” Liam says, “I suppose I figured it’s close to Australia? So I guess I thought it would have nice weather. Like, tropical, right?” 

Harry can’t hold back his laugh, the loud one that draws the attention of the other boys and their various crew members, scattered about the lounge. Harry turns to face the windows, biting down on his smile and ignoring the knowing looks Louis was sending him. “Liam,” he says, voice still full of mirth, “babe, no. Japan’s further north. It’s not tropical.” 

“Oh,” Liam says. There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and Harry bites his lip to hold back another laugh. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to take me there someday and show me, huh?” 

Harry’s breath catches in his chest. _What does that mean?_ he wants to scream. _How can you say these things like they’re facts when we don’t know what we are?_ They had never finished the conversation about that article in _The Sun_. The next time they had spoken on the phone they just hadn’t mentioned it, had talked about their days as usual. It’s been eating at Harry ever since, especially when Liam makes little offhand comments like that. He’d taken to doing it more lately, little things that would sound like flirting coming from anyone else. Harry is dying to ask, to find out how Liam really feels about him, if it’s the same way that Harry feels or if it’s just platonic. It’s driving him slowly mad. 

“Haz?” Liam asks on the other end of the line, and it doesn’t sound like it’s the first time he’s said it. “Did I lose you?” 

“No,” Harry says, forcing himself to sound casual, “I’m here. I think I’ve got to go, though. The plane’s here.” It’s a lie; the tarmac in front of him is as empty as it was ten minutes ago. Harry just can’t be on the phone with Liam anymore, can’t stand the riot that Liam sets off in his stomach whenever he says something flirtatious.

“Oh,” Liam sounds a bit disappointed. Harry doesn’t let that make him hopeful, not at all. “Alright, then. Text me when you land, yeah? I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay, yeah. I’ll call tonight. Bye, Liam,” Harry says, and he hangs up as soon as he hears Liam’s goodbye. He takes himself back to where the boys are sitting and plops down next to Niall, sighing loudly. 

“Still haven’t talked to him, huh?” Niall says, sympathetic. Harry makes a pathetic noise in the back of his throat, nodding. He rests his head against Niall’s shoulder, closing his eyes, and Niall kindly doesn’t move him until they’re finally being allowed to board.

*

Like with the first time he called Liam on the phone, he doesn’t exactly plan the first time he requests a FaceTime with Liam. It was truly an accident: he had been on Liam’s contact page and accidentally hit the FaceTime button rather than call. He frantically tries to cancel the call, since he’s lying in bed wearing boxers and nothing else, but Liam picks up before Harry can do anything. 

“Haz!” Liam says cheerfully. “I’m glad you called, something hilarious happened at practice today--” He cuts himself off suddenly, and Harry watches as his eyes bounce around the screen, obviously taking in Harry’s appearance. Harry glances down at the little box in the corner and sees that the sheets have fallen down a little bit, the birds on his collarbones standing out in stark relief. Liam’s cheeks start to pink up, and Harry very deliberately does not adjust the covers. Maybe FaceTime wasn’t so bad of an idea after all. 

“What happened, Liam?” Harry asks, suddenly enjoying this little game he’s got them started on. And he’s definitely not complaining about the close-up view he’s got of Liam’s face. He’s seen pictures of Liam, obviously--selfies that Liam’s sent him, posts on his social media, even the occasional press image from Harry’s weak moments where he ends up Googling “Liam Payne” in the middle of the night when he can’t sleep. This, though, is different; it’s not posed, like the other pictures. It’s just pure _Liam_ , sat on the couch in his house, his face animated as he tells Harry about the prank one of his teammates played on the others at practice. Harry had thought hearing Liam’s voice was addicting, but watching the expressions on his face, the way his eyes crinkle up at the parts he finds particularly funny, the way his lips move around the words--this is a whole new level of enticing. 

Harry laughs at the end of Liam’s story, but he doesn’t really say anything. He just looks at Liam, taking in his appearance. It would feel creepy if Liam wasn’t sat there doing the exact same thing. 

“Harry,” Liam says eventually, “why in the bloody hell have we not done this before?” 

It shocks a laugh out of Harry, the severity of Liam’s tone. “Hell if I know,” Harry says, smile still stretching his mouth. “But I’m rather glad my finger slipped and hit FaceTime instead of call.” 

“Me too,” Liam says, laughing a little. They go back to sitting in comfortable silence, occasionally pulling faces to make each other laugh. Harry shifts at one point, reaching over to grab his charger and plug in his phone. It causes the sheets to slip further down his chest, exposing more of his skin. “Do you know how unfair that is?” Liam asks, and Harry freezes. 

“How unfair what is?” 

“You showing off your chest like that,” Liam says, and Harry’s heart starts beating double time. It’s like Liam is finally broaching the line neither of them had dared to cross yet. Liam’s eyes are dark on the screen, intent. 

“You’re not any better,” Harry croaks out eventually, “with your face looking like that.” 

Liam flashes a smile at him before his face turns serious again. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but Harry beats him to it. “Are we finally going to talk about it, then?” Harry asks, and Liam’s eyebrows pull together. 

“Talk about what?” he asks, and Harry rolls his eyes, exasperated. 

“ _It_ , Liam! Us! The fact that I have a crush on you that’s visible from space, and if I’m not mistaken, you fancy me too! The fact that I don’t really _want_ to deny rumours about us dating, because I want us to be _actually_ dating!” he says all in a rush, and Liam looks a bit taken aback on the screen. Harry’s breathing hard from the force of his outburst, and for a long minute his breathing is the only sound in the room.

“Right,” Liam says, finally, “so I wasn’t imagining it, then.” Harry lets out a slightly strangled laugh. 

“Are you kidding?” he asks, voice on the edge of hysteria. “Liam, we started talking because I admitted to having a crush on you on television! What would you have imagined?”

“I dunno!” Liam shoots back, sounding a bit offended. “I guess I was worried that once you actually got to talk to me you decided you only liked me as a friend. Which I would have been fine with, by the way,” he continues, eyes earnest, “but I hoped you liked me back.” 

Harry lets out a low laugh. “God, we’ve been idiots. I mean, I’ve been whinging on to Louis and Niall constantly about how you’ll never like me back.” 

Liam laughs. “I’m not much better,” he admits. “My mum was wondering when you were going to finally come round. Felt like my face was going to burn off when I told her we weren’t actually dating.” 

Harry laughs hard at that, forcing himself to bite down on his lip to control the sound. He grins at Liam for a long moment, Liam smiling back, before the aircon kicks on his his room and the sound sends him crashing back down to Earth. Something must show on his face, because Liam’s expression turns concerned immediately. “What is it?” 

“It’s just--we can’t really do much, can we?” Harry asks. “I’m still on tour for the next month, and even then I’ll only have a short break home before we start up again. And you’ve got your schedule. How’s it going to work? How are _we_ going to work?” 

It takes Liam a long moment before he speaks again. Harry figures the same issues are dawning on him, too. They’ve both been in the public eye long enough to know that dating isn’t easy, what with the demanding schedules and the distance and all the press--and Harry knows well enough that dating someone who also has a public persona is even harder. “Well,” Liam starts eventually, speaking slowly, like he’s feeling the words out in his mouth as he says them, “I figure we take it slow. Feel it out. Whenever you get back over here we can go on a date, and then I guess we can see what happens from there. We already know we do a pretty good job at staying in contact, so we just...keep doing what we’re doing.” 

It’s not the best plan Harry’s ever heard, though he’s not sure what an alternative would be. He supposes the ideal would be for Liam to drop everything and fly out to Japan that second, but that’s not really fair or realistic. So instead he nods. “Yeah, I--yeah. That sounds good. Especially the date part.” 

“Yeah,” Liam says, “I think that’s going to be my favorite part, too.”

*

Harry feels like he’s walking on a cloud all the next day. It doesn’t take long for the other lads to notice, and soon enough they corner him in the green room of a show they’re pre-recording a performance for and get it out of him. He tells them the whole story: his conversation with Liam the night before, how they had mutually expressed feelings and agreed to see where those feelings would take them, how they had stayed on the call for hours after that just talking about meaningless things, neither of them having the strength to hang up. 

Louis and Niall roll their eyes, poking fun at the smile he can’t get off his face and the way he keeps staring off into space, lost in thoughts of Liam. He can tell they’re happy for him, underneath it all, so he lets it slide. It’s not like they’re wrong, either, since Harry has to stretch his jaw out several times in the day to loosen it from his constant smiling--the texts Liam send him don’t do much to help. He feels over-excited, is the thing, like he’s in school and his crush has just agreed to go on a date with him. He supposes that is sort of what happened, so he doesn’t care too much about the other lads’ teasing. He’s just too happy to pay them any mind.

*

The band keeps moving their way through Asia, and Liam keeps training and playing matches. They’re still having their nightly chats--they’ve started using FaceTime almost exclusively. Harry thinks it’s slowly driving him mad, seeing Liam every night but not being able to touch him. He’s only a week out from going back to England, but he’s not sure he can make it that long. He tells Liam as much one night, and Liam laughs at him. “If you want, we could go out that day you get back. It just has to be here, I can’t make it down to London in the middle of training,” Liam offers. Harry considers it; normally he would spend his break in London, maybe go up and visit his mum for a bit, but Liam’s offer is tempting. 

“That sounds good,” Harry says, resisting the urge to turn his face into his pillow to hide his grin. “I’ll go straight from the airport.” 

“Good,” Liam says, shifting himself on his bed. He’s taken to FaceTiming Harry from his own bedroom, which might be contributing to Harry’s madness. He always looks so comfortable, lying back against his sheets, while Harry’s always had trouble getting settled in a different bed every night. It’s a problem he shares with the other lads--none of them feel completely relaxed when they’re in the sterile environment of a hotel room. It’s why they always like tours when they can be on the bus instead of hopping between hotels. 

“Is it strange that I miss you when we’ve never really met?” Harry asks, because in this moment, looking at Liam, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this sort of longing. He’s felt homesick before, sure--he’s been on the road since he was sixteen--but he’s never felt it like this. Even at its worst, when he’s missed his mum more than anything, he was always able to distract himself by going on stage or messing around with the other lads. When he thinks of Liam, though, there’s nothing really that can distract him from it. It’s unlike anything he’s felt for another person before, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him a little bit. 

“Not really,” Liam says, “since I miss you, too. Especially when you’re looking as good as you do right now.” 

Harry’s cheeks heat. He’d never thought he was a blusher, but then Liam started flirting with him regularly. “You’re not much better. That bed looks so comfortable. I would love to be there right now.” 

“I’d love to have you here. Though I suppose you can see it on our date.” 

“On the first date, Liam? How scandalous,” Harry teases, and he’s rewarded when Liam grins at him slowly. 

“Harry, if you make me wait longer than I already have to get you into my bed, I might do something drastic.”

“Drastic like what?” 

“Maybe I’ll shave my head again,” Liam threatens, and Harry gasps dramatically. He’d seen Liam with the buzzcut before, and Liam looked good (Liam _always_ looks good), but Harry much prefers the longer style Liam’s got now. It seems like just the perfect length for Harry to thread his fingers through and _pull_.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Harry says, “because then I definitely wouldn’t be coming over.”

Liam laughs. “My hair is that important?” 

“Yes, Liam. And you better keep that in mind if you want this relationship to go somewhere.” That makes Liam laugh again. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll be sure to consult you before I make any hair decisions,” he says, and Harry nods primly. 

“Good,” he says. He starts to say something else, but he cuts himself off with a loud yawn that makes Liam laugh at him. 

“Maybe it’s time for you to go to sleep, babe,” Liam suggests, and Harry pouts. 

“I wanna keep talking to you, though,” he whines. 

“Think of it this way: if you go to bed now, it’s one less sleep until we’re together,” Liam says with a smile, and Harry can’t help but smile back at him. 

“Okay,” he says. “Goodnight, Liam.” 

“Night, Haz. See you soon.” And for the first time, Harry knows that that’s true. 

*

They all land in London a week later, and Harry immediately gets in a car and starts driving up to Manchester. Louis and Niall had waved him off; Niall was waiting for a connecting flight to take him back to Ireland for their week-long break, and Louis was going to his London house for a few days before heading up north himself to see his family. Normally, Harry would be exhausted after a flight like that, wanting to go home straight away and pass out until the next day. He’s too wired to do that now, though, barely feeling the jet lag even as he drives the near four hours to get to Manchester. He’s excited,because even though he’s never really met Liam in person, this date feels like a coming home to someone he’s been with for months already. It’s strange, the way their relationship has evolved, but Harry wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Eventually, he pulls into the carpark of the restaurant they had agreed to meet at and pulls down the visor to check his appearance in the mirror. He can’t really do anything about the bags under his eyes or the slightly greasy tinge to his hair from the airplane, but he hopes Liam doesn’t care too much. If it goes badly, Harry can always head to his mum’s for the night, she’s not far from here. He _really_ hopes he doesn’t have to go to hers. 

He gets out of the car and keeps his head down as he walks into the restaurant. It’s more out of habit now that anything; the street is mostly deserted, as is the restaurant. Even with the few other patrons in the restaurant, Harry’s pretty sure it won’t be long until he’s spotted, especially when someone catches wind that he’s there with Liam. The rags have died down a bit about their relationship, probably because they haven’t been on the same soil for the past month and a half, but this is sure to fire them all up again. 

Liam’s waiting for him when Harry gets into the restaurant, already sat at a discreet table in the corner. He’s fiddling with the napkin in front of him as Harry walks up, and only seems to notice Harry’s presence when Harry is nearly right next to him. “Oh,” he says when he looks up, immediately dropping the napkin and standing to greet Harry, “hey, how was the trip up?” 

“Good, good,” Harry says, and they stand awkwardly in front of each other for a minute before Liam laughs slightly and rolls his eyes, stepping forward and pulling Harry into a hug. Harry wraps his arms around Liam’s waist immediately, slightly in shock that he’s actually able to put his hands on Liam after seeing him through a screen for so long. He takes in a deep breath, and the scent of Liam’s cologne fills his nose--it smells familiar, like something Harry’s encountered before, but he can’t quite place it. He certainly enjoys it, though.

“I’m glad you came,” Liam says quietly before they pull away, and Harry gives him one last squeeze for that before he sits down. A waiter appears almost immediately after they sit down, asking for drink orders--Harry wonders if they’d been watching their greeting and waiting for an opportunity. Liam smiles across the table at Harry and orders them a bottle of wine, and Harry doesn’t really care much about what their waiter--Peter, he’d introduced himself--might be thinking of them, or what he could be telling coworkers back in the kitchen. He leans forward as soon as the waiter leaves, smiling at Liam. 

“How’ve you been?” he asks, and Liam smiles back at him indulgently. 

“We spoke yesterday,” he says with a chuckle, “not much has changed since then.” Harry rolls his eyes. 

“I’m aware of that, Liam,” he says. “What did you do today?” 

“Well, I had training, then I went home and played with Watson for a bit, and then I came here. What about you?” 

“Um, I woke up, we had a bit of recording to do in the morning, and then we flew back and I came here,” Harry says, and then he laughs. “We’re really quite boring, aren’t we?” 

“Hey,” Liam says, putting on an offended tone, “speak for yourself, mate. My walk with Watson was dead interesting. He saw some birds that he barked at.” Harry laughs louder at that, and then has to force himself to be quiet when their waiter comes back with the wine. 

“Have you decided what you’d like to eat?” Peter asks, and Harry looks down at the menu he hasn’t touched; he’d forgotten about it completely. Peter obviously sees this, and he then asks if they need a few more minutes, which Liam and Harry agree to, sharing embarrassed grins across the table. Harry decidedly opens his menu when Peter walks away and practically sticks his nose in it, making Liam laugh across the table--though Harry can see he follows his lead. They talk quietly over the menu, musing over their options, and eventually Peter comes back and is able to actually take down their orders. When he’s gone, Harry grabs his glass of wine and takes a generous sip. 

“I’m really glad we’re finally able to do this,” he tells Liam, and Liam grins back at him, his eyes crinkling up until they’re almost invisible on his face. 

“Me too, Haz,” he says. “Me too.”

The rest of their dinner passes with conversation and wine flowing. Harry finds that the longer the dinner goes on, the less he’s really paying attention to the words coming out of Liam’s mouth and the more he pays attention to the way Liam’s lips move around the words. That’s why it takes him a few moments to recognize that Liam’s actually asking him a question. “Sorry, what?” he asks, and Liam smiles like he knows exactly what Harry had been doing moments before. 

“Did you want dessert?” Liam says, waving around the dessert menu. Funny, Harry hadn’t even noticed Peter coming back and dropping it off. 

“Um,” Harry starts, and he looks into Liam’s eyes, which seem to be almost dancing in the light of the candle on their table. “No, I think we can get the check,” he says, and Liam smirks at him. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.” He calls Peter back over and asks for the check, and after a short squabble in which Liam insists on paying for the full tab, telling Harry with smiling eyes that he can pay the next time they go out, they’re standing outside the restaurant. Harry’s not sure where the night will go next, but he certainly knows where he wants it to go. 

“This might be a bit forward,” he says, “and I usually don’t do this on the first date, but, would it be alright if we went back to yours?” 

Liam snorts. “Harry, I’m pretty sure it was a foregone conclusion that you were going to be coming home with me tonight.”

“Good,” Harry says, letting his grin take over his face. “Because I didn’t get a hotel, and it would be quite embarrassing to show up on my mum’s doorstep in the middle of the night.” 

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Liam says. “Where’s your car? I can drive us back to mine.”

“Didn’t you drive here?” Harry asks, confused. 

“Nah, it’s not that far. I took the bus.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

Liam looks at him, quizzical. “I take the bus most places in the city. Save the planet, all that. Where’s your car?” 

“Um, it’s over there, but can we revisit the part where you’re mostly taking public transport? Doesn’t it get crazy? I haven’t been able to ride the tube since 2011,” Harry says, and he finally gets his feet to unstick from the ground and start moving towards his car. He’s slightly self-conscious about the huge Range Rover he’s rented now that he knows that Liam’s apparently doing his part to offset carbon emissions. 

“Not really,” Liam says, following Harry and holding his hand out for Harry’s keys when they get to the car. “On game days I drive to the stadium, obviously, but most of the time no one really notices me. I suppose people just think that it’s so unlikely for me to be riding the bus that they don’t realise it’s actually me.” He unlocks the car door and climbs in, and Harry follows him slowly. He’s still thinking about what Liam’s said as Liam starts to pull the car out and drive towards his house, and he’s quiet in the passenger seat until Liam laughs. “Is it really that weird that I ride the bus?” 

“No!” Harry says immediately. “Of course not. I just, I dunno, I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well, I’m glad I can surprise you in some ways. Seems like at this point you must know everything about me.” It’s sort of true: you don’t talk to someone every day for several months without learning most of the things there are to know about the other person. Harry’s sure Liam knows plenty about him, too. 

They drive the rest of the way to Liam’s house in comfortable silence, Harry looking out the window at the stores and other houses on the street. Liam hums along to the songs on the radio absentmindedly--Harry wonders if Liam even realizes he’s doing it--and it makes Harry smile to himself. When they pull into Liam’s drive, Harry stops himself from gawking through the windscreen. He doesn’t want to be rude, even if Liam does have an impressive house (one that Harry’s been waiting months to see). He’s probably not entirely successful, since Liam glances over at him and laughs lowly. “It’s a lot, I know, but my family comes round a lot and I wanted to have enough space for them. Plus I’m always having the lads from the team over and they take up a lot of room.” 

“It’s amazing, I love it,” Harry says. “You’ll have to give me the full tour.” 

“Of course,” Liam says, as he parks the car near the garage. “Don’t move,” he says, even as he gets out, and Harry’s left to watch as Liam darts around the front of the car to open Harry’s door for him. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” Harry says, unbuckling his seatbelt. Liam’s holding a hand out for him, like he’s a princess stepping out of a carriage.

“But I wanted to,” Liam says, and he leans in quick to press a kiss on Harry’s cheek before he moves away, pulling open the car’s boot to grab Harry’s overnight bag and walking towards the door. Harry, who was frozen in place by the feel of Liam’s lips against his skin, slowly starts to head towards the front door when Liam calls out to him. 

They pause in front of the door as Liam digs out his keys. Almost as soon as he fits the keys into the lock, loud barking starts on the other side of the door, making Harry jump in surprise. “Ah, yeah, sorry,” Liam says sheepishly. “That’ll be Watson. He can get a bit excited around new people.” He opens the door and quite possibly the largest dog Harry has ever seen comes barreling towards them. Harry’d seen pictures of Watson before, and he knew objectively that he was a Great Dane and Great Danes can be huge, but he couldn’t have ever pictured what it would look like to have a Great Dane running at you. He’s a half second away from running back towards the car when Liam steps in front of him and grabs Watson by the collar, keeping him from running straight out the door--and into Harry. “Hey, there, big guy,” he says, putting on a cute, gruff voice to talk to the dog. Harry is helplessly endeared. “Calm down, now, it’s just me and Hazza.” The dog growls a bit, making Harry take a slight step back, but Liam looks over his shoulder at him and smiles. “It’s alright, he’ll calm down. Do you want to pet him?”

“Um,” Harry says, still stood half in, half out the doorway, “does he want me to?”

“Course!” Liam says, eyes crinkling. “He loves people, really. He's a big sweetheart, don't let his size scare you.” Harry takes a hesitant step forward, wary in case Watson starts barking again, but the dog seems to have calmed down. Harry gets closer, reaching out a hand and touching it gently against Watson’s head. Watson pushes his head up against Harry's hand, then turns and licks a broad stripe around Harry's wrist and palm. 

“Eugh,” Harry says, pulling his hand back and wiping the slobber off on his jeans, “nice to meet you, too, Watson.”

Liam laughs, reaching back behind Harry to close the door and then letting Watson go. “Come on, I've got to give Watson some food and then we can do the tour,” he says, and Harry follows as Liam walks into the kitchen. It’s large, the kind of kitchen that Harry would love to have, yet it seems mostly untouched. It seems like Watson eats more meals in here than Liam does. 

“Do you cook much?” Harry asks, running a finger along the marble countertop covering the large island. 

“Er,” Liam says, shaking out food into Watson’s dog bed, “not much? I mean, I'm on a pretty strict training diet most of the time, and it doesn't leave a lot of room for, like, flavor, I guess.”

Harry laughs. “I guess I’ll just have to be here to add some flavor into your life,” he says. It's a ridiculously cheesy line--Harry's a bit appalled at himself--but it's out there now. Liam puts the bag down and turns to look at Harry where he's leaning against the counter. 

“Does that line work on a lot of people?” Liam asks, moving closer, and Harry bites down on his bottom lip. 

“I’ve never tried it before. You tell me,” he says, and Liam gets even closer, placing his hands on either side of Harry’s hips, boxing him in against the island. Harry raises his hands and rests them on Liam’s waist, making sure he stays right where he is--Harry doesn’t want him to be anywhere else. 

“It’s a pretty bad line,” Liam says, even as he’s moving his face in closer to Harry’s, “but I’d still like to kiss you anyway, if that’s alright with you.” Harry doesn’t answer him; he just leans in and closes the distance between them. 

Kissing Liam is something that Harry has been fantasizing about since the first moment he saw him, when Liam was just a pretty face across a crowded room. He’s thought about that night often, wondered what would have happened if he’d approached Liam then, barely knowing who he was. He’s thought that maybe he would’ve bought Liam a drink, turned on the charm that’s gotten him to where he is today, probably ended up with Liam in his bed that night. He always wondered if it would’ve gone further--if they would still be here tonight--or if it would have stayed as a one night stand. But here, now, standing in Liam’s kitchen finally kissing him after months of getting to know him, feels better than even his wildest imaginations. He doesn’t want it to end. 

Liam deepens the kiss slowly, like they’ve got all the time in the world. Maybe they do--Harry’s not sure. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been in this bubble, kissing deeply in the middle of Liam’s kitchen, but he doesn’t want it to burst. He breaks away from Liam’s mouth when the need for air wins out over his desire to keep his lips pressed to Liam’s. Liam seems to take it in stride, moving away from Harry’s mouth to start pressing kisses across his jaw and down his neck. Harry can’t help but moan when he feels the slight bite of Liam’s teeth against his pulse point, and he moves his hands up to (finally, _finally_ ) thread through Liam’s hair. He uses his leverage on Liam’s hair to move their mouths back together, savoring the feel of Liam’s lips against his. Liam’s hands are running up and down Harry’s back in a way that’s slowly driving Harry out of his mind. 

They keep going like that for a while--Harry has no idea how long. Eventually, though, Harry pulls his mouth away, laughing a little when Liam tries to follow him with a disgruntled noise. “Li,” Harry says, a bit breathless, “I think it’s time for you to show me the bedroom.” 

Liam looks back at Harry, his brown eyes dark in the low light of the kitchen. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough, “let’s do that.” He presses another short kiss against Harry’s mouth before he steps away, taking Harry’s hand and leading him through the house to the bedroom. Harry doesn’t get to see much--it’s dark, and he’s much more focused on Liam in front of him--but he makes a note to ask Liam for the full tour later. Now, though, he’s happy to follow Liam into the bedroom. 

In the time Harry and Liam were in the kitchen, Watson evidently got bored of them, and he’s now sprawled across Liam’s bed. Harry laughs when he sees it, standing behind Liam in the doorway. He gives in to his urge to wrap his arms around Liam’s waist from behind, using the slight height advantage he has on Liam to rest his chin comfortably on Liam’s shoulder. “Hm,” he hums into Liam’s ear, smiling to himself when he feels Liam shiver, “seems like we’ve been displaced.” He presses a kiss to the skin just under Liam’s ear, interest piquing when Liam shivers harder. He’s about to lean in for another kiss, maybe leave a nice love bite there, but Liam’s moving out of the circle of Harry’s arms. Harry makes a questioning noise, and Liam shoots him a grin over his shoulder before he starts shooing Watson off the bed. It takes a bit of doing--Watson was apparently very comfortable--but eventually Liam gets him on the floor and out the door, shutting the door firmly behind him to give them privacy. 

“Sorry about that,” he says. “I think he’s gotten a bit too used to sleeping in the bed with me.” Harry tries not to get distracted by the adorable image of Liam cuddling up in bed with his huge dog, and instead focuses on the moment at hand. He steps back into Liam’s space, hands finding Liam’s waist automatically. “It’s fine. But there was something we were doing before, what was it again?” he says, smirking a little bit.

“I think it went a little something like this,” Liam says, leaning in and kissing Harry. Harry hums into the kiss, and soon enough they’ve reached the same level of passion they had in the kitchen, interlude with Watson forgotten. 

“What’s next?” Harry says as he pulls away, not even waiting for an answer from Liam before he leans back into Liam’s mouth. He can feel Liam smile against his lips before he starts walking forward, making Harry walk back until his knees hit the bed.

“I think this is what happens next,” Liam says, pulling back from Harry’s mouth and giving him a light push down onto the bed. Harry falls back, bouncing slightly on the plush mattress, and he laughs up at Liam, who climbs onto the bed after him, legs straddling Harry’s hips. Their mouths fit together again easily, Liam pushing Harry back into the pillows as he starts to rest more of his weight on top of Harry’s body. Liam’s bed is every bit as heavenly as Harry had thought it would be, and Liam on top of him makes it even better. 

Their clothes are starting to get restrictive--Harry’s jeans are uncomfortably tight now, and his shirt is starting to ride up in some places, pull in others. He pushes Liam off him slightly to get at the waistband of Liam’s own jeans, happy when Liam gets the message and starts to work at the fly himself. Harry starts to push up Liam’s shirt, but he doesn’t want to pull away from Liam’s mouth to get it over Liam’s head, so he leaves it rucked up to Liam’s armpits. It doesn’t stop him from running his hands across Liam’s bare chest, reveling in the feel of the firm muscle under the skin. Liam is ridiculously fit, of course, but Harry can’t help but laugh a bit breathlessly when he feels Liam’s ab definition. “What?” Liam says, moving away from Harry’s mouth and looking down at him with a confused look on his face. He looks debauched, hair messed from Harry’s hands and lips red from Harry’s own--just looking at him makes Harry’s dick twitch in his jeans. 

“You’re so hot, you know that?” Harry says, and Liam’s cheeks flush even more. Harry groans. “I need you naked. I need me naked. We should both be naked, now.” 

“That can be done,” Liam says with a laugh, sitting back on his heels and pulling his shirt off fully. Harry’s so distracted by the sight of so much skin--and the hair covering it that makes Harry’s mouth water a little--that he doesn’t notice Liam balling his shirt up and throwing it at Harry’s face. Harry splutters in surprise, reaching up to pull the shirt away and he’s faced with Liam laughing so hard he’s nearly collapsed with it. 

“Hey,” Harry whines, “that wasn’t very nice.” Liam smiles down at him, shaking his head a bit. 

“You were getting distracted,” he says, reaching down to pinch at a bit of Harry’s hip that’s been exposed as his shirt rode up. “I thought you said something about us both being naked.” 

“Right, right,” Harry says, and he sits up, Liam staying comfortably in his lap. He starts to unbutton his shirt, fumbling a bit with some of the buttons because of the weight of Liam’s eyes on him. When he looks up, Liam looks like a kid on Christmas morning unwrapping his favorite present. Harry smiles a bit, shimmies his shoulders around as he undoes his next button, and Liam laughs, reaching out to tweak one of Harry’s nipples. That throws Harry off his rhythm a bit, caught between a bite of pain and the jolt of pleasure that runs up his spine. He keeps going after a moment, finishing the last few buttons quickly and taking the shirt off. Liam pushes him back down on the mattress and starts to press kisses down his chest, swirling his tongue around Harry’s nipples and scraping his teeth gently against Harry’s butterfly tattoo. Harry tosses his head back against the pillows, groaning as Liam continues to attempt to taste every bit of Harry’s skin. He pauses suddenly, head moving back from Harry’s chest, and Harry whines. 

“Hang on,” Liam says, looking up at Harry, “have you got an extra nipple?” 

Harry laughs, reaching down and running fingers over Liam’s cheek. “Got two of them,” he says, pointing to the other nipple, small and just off the side of his butterfly. Liam makes a surprised noise when he sees it, making Harry giggle a bit. Liam dips down to press a light kiss on the nipple, then moving over to do the same to Harry’s other extra. Harry giggles again, then shuffles his legs against the sheets, knocking his knees into Liam’s. “Liam,” he says, “why are we still wearing our jeans?” 

“Think I got a bit distracted,” Liam says sheepishly, and he climbs off of Harry, standing next to bed. Harry’s a bit disgruntled at the loss of Liam’s warmth over him, but then Liam reaches to fully undo his fly and takes off his jeans, leaving him standing there looking like a bloody Calvin Klein advert. 

“Pants off, too,” Harry orders, and Liam raises an eyebrow at him, thumbs tucking into the waistband but not pulling them down yet. “Bossy, aren’t you?” he says, teasing, like he’s not just as eager, like Harry can’t see the way his cock is straining against the fabric of his pants. Harry rolls his eyes, reaching out for Liam with grabby hands. 

“Yes. Clothes off now,” he says, and then rolls his eyes again when Liam keeps looking at him expectantly. “ _Please_ , Liam.” Liam smiles at him and nods. 

“There you go,” he says, and then he uses his thumbs to tug down his briefs. Harry was going to come back at Liam with some smart quip, but the words die on his tongue when he sees Liam’s dick for the first time--thick and red, standing hard against Liam’s stomach. 

“Christ, you’re gorgeous,” he says, and Liam moves closer to the bed. He reaches for Harry’s waistband, muttering about wanting to see Harry too as he undoes the zipper, tugging Harry’s jeans and pants down together. 

“Why are these so bloody tight?” he grits out when the jeans stick around Harry’s knees, and Harry kicks his legs to help Liam pull them fully off. 

“I had to highlight my assets,” Harry says when they’re off, thrown to the ground somewhere. Liam crawls back up the bed until he’s hovering over Harry again.

“ _These_ assets?” he says, giving Harry’s bum a good squeeze, and Harry’s caught between a laugh and a moan. This is the most fun he’s had in bed with someone for a long while, teasing and joking but not in a way that kills the mood. It’s an addicting feeling. 

“Yes, those assets,” Harry says. He leans up and captures Liam’s lips again, hands gripping his waist and bringing Liam down until he’s resting right in the cradle of Harry’s hips. They both groan when their cocks rub together, and Liam breaks away from Harry’s mouth. 

“What do you want?” he asks, hips still grinding against Harry in a way that makes his eyes roll back in his head. Part of him wants to say _this, just this_ , because he knows that he could come just from this. But the rest of him wants more--he wants to touch Liam, wants to _taste_ him, wants to feel Liam inside him, wants to be inside Liam. He wants everything, and he’s not sure how to express it. He just shakes his head a bit, pulling Liam into another kiss so he doesn’t have to speak right now, because he’s not sure he can. “You don’t want to?” Liam asks between kisses, and Harry shakes his head. 

“Can’t decide,” he says, and Liam huffs out a laugh against Harry’s mouth. 

“We’ve got time,” he says, holding himself up on his forearms. “How about we start with me sucking you off?” 

“Yes, yes,” Harry says, nodding. He might sound a bit desperate, but there’s nothing in him to feel embarrassed, he’s too caught up in the moment. Liam doesn’t seem to mind either, since he just starts pressing kisses down Harry’s chest, following the path he began earlier, only this time he goes further down. A bit _too_ far down, in Harry’s opinion, since he starts kissing along Harry’s inner thighs, driving Harry crazy with the feel of his stubble against the sensitive skin, but still refusing to put his mouth where Harry wants it. “Liam,” Harry groans out as Liam nips at his inner thigh, tongue then moving to soothe the skin and brushing just against Harry’s balls, making him arch his back. Liam pulls away and smiles cheekily up at Harry from his position between his thighs--Harry finds it unbelievably attractive. 

“Yes, dear?” Liam says, still smiling, and Harry reaches down to run a thumb over Liam’s lips, taking in a sharp breath when Liam sucks it into his mouth.

“You look good like that,” Harry says, making Liam smirk around his thumb, “but you’d look better with my cock in your mouth.” 

Liam laughs, dropping Harry’s thumb. “Is that so?” he asks, and Harry nods, moving his hand to the back of Liam’s head, thumb streaking saliva across Liam’s cheek. 

“Yes,” Harry says, “so if you don’t mind?” He raises his eyebrows and nods his chin down unsubtly at his cock. Liam laughs again, then hums and haws about it for a bit, long enough for Harry to tug at his hair with a whine. Then, he finally takes Harry’s cock into his mouth, making Harry groan. Liam’s mouth is _wet_ and _hot_ and feels fucking _amazing_. He’s also quite clearly done this before--he knows the exact way to move his tongue, the right pressure, everything, to drive Harry out of his mind. Harry doesn’t want to think about who else Liam might have used these skills on, and instead keeps his mind focused on how good Liam is making him feel (not like that’s particularly difficult). Harry’s hands are gripping Liam’s hair, and he can’t control the noises coming out of his mouth as Liam focuses his attention on the head of Harry’s dick, his hand coming up to work the rest of Harry’s length. His other hand is stroking along the sensitive skin at the inside of Harry’s thighs, dropping down to grasp Harry’s balls, making Harry cry out. His fingers have Liam’s hair in a death grip now, legs twitching helplessly against the bed as Liam lets go of Harry’s dick for a moment, only to move his mouth down, down, _down_ , until Harry hitting the back of Liam’s throat and moaning so loud he would be embarrassed if he could focus his brain cells on anything other than Liam. It’s then that Liam’s other hand moves lower, fingertips brushing against Harry’s hole, and Harry arches off the bed, coming into Liam’s mouth with a shout that doesn’t really serve as the warning Harry usually gives to people giving him head. He’s too distracted to care, though, since his orgasm had him seeing stars and he’s still panting as he comes back to himself, focusing on the image in front of him.

Liam’s sat up on his haunches, smiling down at Harry as he wipes at his mouth and chin a little. “Sorry,” Harry rasps out, when he can find his voice again. “Should’ve warned you.”

“I don’t mind,” Liam says, voice even deeper than normal, slightly hoarse from the fact he’d just had Harry’s dick halfway down his throat a few minutes ago. It makes Harry reach for him, pull him down into a kiss. He can feel Liam’s dick, still hard, pressing against his hip, Liam thrusting a little like he can’t resist the little friction he can get. Harry pulls away from Liam’s mouth, still breathing heavily as he asks, “what do you want? What can I do for you?” As he speaks, he reaches down and circles his hand around Liam’s dick, making Liam gasp into his mouth. “Like that?” Harry asks, making his grip a little tighter. Liam’s thrusting into his grip faster now, building up a strong rhythm. 

“Yeah,” he groans, dropping his head down onto Harry’s shoulder. Like this, with Liam on top of him, thrusting, Harry can almost imagine what it would feel like to actually have Liam fucking him. The thought makes his dick give a hopeful twitch, though he knows he’s not likely to get hard again so quickly after his first orgasm. It’s an idea he tucks away for later, though, something he definitely wants to happen before their week together is up.

Liam is panting into Harry’s neck, hips moving more rapidly. Harry starts to twist his hand around the head of Liam’s dick, the same way he does when he’s jerking himself off. It works, Liam moaning brokenly into Harry’s skin. Harry shushes him, running his other hand soothingly up and down Liam’s back, even as he continues to jerk Liam off with his other hand. “Come on, babe, let go. Come for me, Li, I wanna see you come.” 

Liam does, biting down on Harry’s shoulder hard as he shakes in Harry’s grip. He stays like that for a bit, riding the aftershocks, and Harry lets him, because he’s not sure there’s anything that could feel as nice as Liam’s weight pressing him into a mattress. Eventually, though, Liam shifts away from him, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder before he heads into the en suite. He’s only gone for a minute before he’s back with a wet cloth, wiping Harry down gently before throwing the cloth towards a hamper in the corner and dropping down on the bed next to Harry. 

“Hi,” he says, bringing a hand up to cup Harry’s cheek, his thumb brushing back and forth across Harry’s cheekbone. It makes Harry feel fragile, like Liam thinks he’s something precious, something that he wouldn’t want to break. 

“Hi,” Harry breathes back. He grabs Liam’s other hand where it’s laying on the mattress in front of him, playing with Liam’s fingers. When he looks back up at Liam, there’s a smile on his face that Harry’s never seen before, small and soft and a bit wondrous. Harry pulls a face back at him, just to make him laugh, to see his eyes crinkle up in the way he loves. He’s feeling ridiculously soppy at the moment, it’s actually quite embarrassing. “So,” he starts. 

“So,” Liam echoes, scrunching his nose up when Harry bites at his thumb to keep him quiet. “What’d you do that for?” he asks, jerking his hand back from Harry’s mouth. He doesn’t let go of Harry’s hand, though, which Harry is pleased about. 

“Because I’m talking now,” Harry says, primly, and Liam makes an offended face, opens his mouth to speak again, but Harry snaps his teeth in the direction of Liam’s hand and he shuts his mouth. “Did tonight live up to your expectations?” Did _I_ live up to your expectations, is what he wants to say, but he can’t, so he makes his voice teasing, waggles his eyebrows, makes it seem like it’s a joke. 

Liam doesn’t seem to take it that way, though; his face turns serious, and he doesn’t move his eyes away from Harry’s as he leans down to brush a kiss against the back of Harry’s hand. “Better,” he says, “so much better. Can’t wait to see what it feels like when I can actually get inside you.” 

Harry sucks in a sharp breath; he can’t not, at Liam’s words, at the images they draw to mind, ones he’d thought of himself only minutes before. Liam looks up at him then, eyes wide like he’s said the wrong thing. He starts to stutter out something like an apology, but Harry shushes him by pressing his finger to his lips, then moving it away and replacing it with his lips. “No,” he whispers when he pulls away, still close enough that he and Liam are sharing the same air, “I want that. I _definitely_ want that. Just, maybe not right this second.” 

Liam laughs. “Sorry, babe, but I don’t think I could go again this quickly if I wanted to,” he says, and then he moves his hand off Harry’s face to his waist, using the leverage he has there to pull Harry flush against him. “And I definitely want to.” 

Harry lets out a horribly embarrassing noise, somewhere between a sigh and a giggle. Liam’s eyes widen a little at it, and he bites down on his lip like he’s trying not to laugh. “Shush,” Harry says, “you shouldn’t make fun of your bedfellow, Liam. It’s rude.” 

“Oh?” Liam asks, raising an eyebrow. He has quite nice eyebrows, Harry notices. He brings a thumb up to rub along one of them, making Liam furrow them. Harry giggles again; he hadn’t thought he was a giggler, but maybe Liam just brings it out in him. Liam smiles at him softly, leaning forward and brushing a kiss to Harry’s lips. “I’m glad you came,” he breathes out when they pull apart, and it’s Harry’s turn to smile at him. 

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” he says. He wants to say something else, tell Liam just how happy he is to be in his presence. How he feels like he could stay in this space forever, something he’s never felt before. But before he can get the words out he’s yawning, jetlag catching up to him all at once. Liam chuckles at him softly, tucks the two of them into bed and reaches over to shut off the bedside lamp. The last thing Harry processes before he falls asleep is Liam pressing a kiss to his forehead and murmuring a good night. 

*

Harry wakes up the next morning in Liam’s arms and convinces him to share a shower ( _conserving water, Li, it’s good for the environment!_ ), and he’s able to return the favor from the night before. He drops to his knees and takes Liam in deep, deeper than he would if he had to sing anytime soon. They kiss under the shower spray until it turns lukewarm and then step out and snog on Liam’s bed until their stomachs growl loud enough that they stumble down to the kitchen for food. They spend the rest of Harry’s week-long break in a similar fashion. When Liam needs to go out for training or something else with the team, Harry stays home, lounging around on Liam’s ridiculously large couch or napping in his bed. They go on walks with Watson together, try out stupidly posh restaurants and little hipster cafes. Harry’s sure they get papped in places--he’s stopped by a few fans, and their stories about him and Liam being somewhere _together_ are probably blowing up Twitter. He can’t find it in himself to care, though, not when Liam holds his hand while they’re out like it doesn’t matter if people see them, not when Liam pulls him close while they wait for their coffees and presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek. It makes Harry feel free, like it doesn’t matter what people say or think about him. He’d always wanted to be like that--to be someone who could let criticism roll of his back like it doesn’t matter at all. Liam makes him feel like he might actually be able to.

The week passes in a blur of laughter and kisses and _LiamLiamLiam_. Usually on a break like this, Harry will spend the first few days getting reacquainted with his friends and family, then spend the last few days anxiously waiting to get back on the road. There’s always an itch under his skin, something that can only be soothed by the screams of thousands of fans. As the end of the week with Liam approaches, though, Harry doesn’t get that same itch. Instead he wants to curl up in Liam’s bed and never leave. As always, Liam seems to be the exception to everything Harry thought he knew about himself. 

The night before Harry needs to head back down to London, two nights before Harry’s on a plane to America, Liam takes him out to eat again. They linger over dinner, splitting a bottle of wine and a decadent slice chocolate cake that makes Harry moan in appreciation. Which, in turn, makes Liam’s eyes go dark, focused on Harry’s lips. They get the check shortly after that. They go back to Liam’s, and Liam lays Harry down on the bed and slowly undresses him, kissing every stretch of skin as it’s exposed. By the time he sits up to reach for lube and a condom, Harry’s practically writhing on the sheets. Liam soothes him with a kiss, then fucks him slow, bringing their foreheads together. It feels more intimate than anything Harry’s ever done, to look Liam right in the eyes as he thrusts into Harry, hitting the spot that makes Harry go crazy and stars dance behind his eyelids. When he comes, it feels like it’s been building for ages, a crescendo coming to its peak, and it takes a while for him to fully come down. 

Liam’s lying next to him when Harry finally feels like he can come back to himself, and he turns to face Liam much like he had the first night they were together. They’re quiet, for a while; Harry’s not sure exactly what to say. “I’m going to miss this,” is what he decides on, and Liam brushes a kiss to his forehead. 

“Me too,” he says. “I wish you could stay.”

“I’ve never,” Harry starts, and then he pauses. He wants to make sure his words come out right, wants to make sure Liam can really understand the thoughts running around his head. “I’ve never really wanted to stay in one place. I never wanted to be kept by anyone or anything. But I think I might want to be kept here. I want to stay with you.”

Liam leans in and brushes his lips against Harry’s lightly. “I want that, too,” he says. “As long as you do.” Harry doesn’t respond, just leans in to kiss Liam again, trying to commit this feeling to memory, so that he could return to it in the future. They pull back, eventually, but Harry can’t resist leaning back in for one last peck before he rests his head down on Liam’s shoulder, getting ready for sleep. 

“Maybe,” he says slowly, sleepily, “you could come visit on tour.” There’s a pause, and Harry begins to wake up a little more, suddenly nervous that he’s said the wrong thing. Liam presses a kiss to his forehead, though, rubbing his hand along Harry’s shoulder, and Harry relaxes back into him. 

“I would love to,” Liam says softly, and Harry smiles into his chest as he falls asleep. 

*

“Hazza!” Niall yells as soon as Harry steps into the airport lounge, jumping up from his chair and pulling Harry into a tight hug. It’s only been a week, so the reaction should seem a bit unnecessary, but that’s always how they’ve been with each other. Since they came off the show, they’ve spent more time with each other than with their own families; it feels strange to not see the other boys everyday. 

“Hiya Nialler,” Harry says, curling his arms around Niall and dropping his head onto his shoulder. He’s taller than Niall is, now, but part of him thinks he’ll always be that sixteen year old in the X Factor house suffering from a vicious cocktail of anxiety, fear, and homesickness, and Niall will always be the boy who would stay up with him singing covers of Justin Bieber songs offkey just to make Harry laugh. “How was Mullingar?” 

“Same as always,” Niall says, pulling back, “best place in the world. You need to come back soon, mate.” Harry laughs, since his one trip to Mullingar was a series of disasters, but it was still one of the best trips he’s ever taken. 

“Alright,” he says, moving further into the lounge and taking his bag off his shoulder. “Louis not in yet?” 

“Nope,” Niall shakes his head. “He should be here soon, though, if he didn’t oversleep too much. And you’ve got to tell us about your break. Not that we didn’t see enough on Twitter, mate.” 

Harry groans. He had conveniently not checked social media for the past week. “Was it terrible?”

Niall shrugs. “Not the worst we’ve ever had. At least you look happy in all the photos. You are happy, yeah?” 

Harry sits down, resting his head on Niall’s shoulder when Niall sits in the chair next to him. “Yeah. Like, he’s amazing.”

“Amazing, is he?” Louis’ voice comes from the doorway, and Harry’s barely able to lift his head before Louis’s sat in the chair next to him. “Amazing enough that you didn’t even spare a thought to text your best friends about it?”

Harry rolls his eyes, switching from leaning on Niall’s shoulder to leaning on Louis. “Sorry, Lou,” he says. “I was a bit busy.”

“I’m sure,” Louis says primly. “Busy in the bedroom, eh?” Niall laughs on Harry’s other side, and Harry can feel his face heat up. 

“Shut up,” he mutters, “but yes. Liam is--”

“Don’t!” Niall says, hands flying up to cover his ears. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I bet he’s hung like a stallion,” Louis says conversationally, and Niall lets out another shout and slides off his chair onto the floor. Harry laughs so hard tears come to his eyes. And when he checks his phone before getting on the plane to see a message that says _**miss u so much baby let me know when you land xxxx**_ , he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop smiling. 

*

A week later, Harry still feels the same. He misses Liam, of course, but they still talk every night. Their relationship is progressing faster than any Harry’s been in before, but then again, if you count from when they first started texting, they've been together for months. Harry's not quite sure if Liam thinks about it the same way, but Harry's treating it like he and Liam have been dating for what feels like forever now, even if they’d only spent the single week together in person. He's starting to understand what the fans say when they talk about meeting their significant other online and never meeting in person. 

Harry's pretty sure Liam’s the same way as he is; his texts have gotten more flirty, he's become more confident saying things on the phone that make Harry's heart flutter. They haven't really talked about Liam coming out on tour with them, but Harry still wants it to happen. He's already thinking of when the best timing would be, checking their tour schedule against Liam's training and match schedule. He's on his phone checking the dates once again, gearing up to suggest it when they FaceTime tonight, when Louis sits down on the couch next to him. 

He sits down gingerly, doesn't flop all over Harry like he usually would, and he makes no comment about the lovestruck look on Harry's face like he has nearly every time he's seen him in the past week, which is how Harry knows something’s wrong. 

“What's up?” he asks, setting his phone to the side. Planning Liam's trip can wait.

“Have you talked to Liam today?” Louis responds, which is a bit strange. For as much as Louis and Niall tease him about Liam, they don't pry into their relationship. They're content to let Harry tell them as much as he wants, which Harry's been grateful for. 

“Texted a bit this morning,” Harry says slowly. “We should be on FaceTime tonight. Why?”

“I think there’s something you need to see before you talk to him,” Louis says ominously. He’s holding his laptop, Harry notices, and he’s angling the screen away from Harry’s view. 

“What is it?” Harry asks cautiously. He’s not fully convinced this isn’t some prank Louis’ planned, that on the computer screen is one of those pop-up jumpscare things that always make Harry flinch. Louis shoots him one last concerned look and hands him the laptop. 

It’s an article, on some tabloid site. The headline is some all-caps monstrosity, and Harry skims the words _Liam Payne_ and _nightclub_ before he looks back at Louis. “What am I supposed to get from this?” he asks, and Louis reaches over, scrolls down the page a little, and oh. There are photos. Photos that show Liam stepping out of a club, face thrown into sharp relief by the camera flashes. It would be pretty standard--it’s something Harry’s experienced himself countless times, in various stages of inebriation--except for the person practically clinging to Liam’s side. 

It’s no one Harry can identify, especially not with the way their head is turned away from the cameras, practically buried into Liam’s neck. Liam has an arm around the person, slung low around their hips, and he’s clearly guiding them through the crowd to the car waiting for them. Harry skims some of the text under the photo, but it’s all so suggestive and rude that it makes him feel sick to his stomach, and he has to look away. 

“Do you know who that is?” Louis asks softly, and Harry had almost forgotten he was there. He shakes his head, silent, still staring at the photos. “Hazza?” he says again, and Harry finally tears his gaze away from the screen. 

“I don’t--” he starts, then stops to clear his throat when his voice comes out rough. “I don’t have any idea. He didn’t mention going out when we talked yesterday. It was still early, though.” 

“Harry, this isn’t good. The article has sources saying Liam was like, all over this guy all night.”

Harry scoffs. “Louis, haven’t you learned not to trust sources?” he asks. He knows he’s being a bit defensive of Liam, but Louis doesn’t know him like Harry does. Even if the photos look incriminating. They can’t be what Louis (and the article, and probably everyone on the internet, _God_ ) is making it out to be. They just can’t be, because if they are, then Harry doesn’t know what he would do with himself. So he can’t think of that possibility.

“Haz,” Louis says with a sigh, “I just want to make sure you’re, like, going to be okay. And I thought you should know from me before some fan sent it to you or a twat tried to ask you about it in an interview. I’m not, like, going to get into your relationship. But I think you might need to have a conversation with Liam about this. And if he does hurt you, the offer to fly back to England and rip off his balls still stands.” 

Harry huffs a laugh, though it’s not as enthusiastic as it could be. His heart still feels heavy, weighed down with the questions those pictures raise for him, but he’s got to push it aside for now. There’s still some interviews and a radio show to get through before he could even talk to Liam, and Harry has to be professional. He tries never to be anything less. 

And if he sees an unread message from Liam light up his phone later, he might ignore it, something he’s never purposefully done before. But that doesn’t mean anything--he’s busy, is all, and he’ll talk to Liam later. 

*

It takes three more days until he speaks to Liam. He’s been sort of ignoring Liam--not answering his calls, barely answering his texts. He wants to talk to Liam, really, since it might do something to alleviate the knot that has formed in his stomach and won’t leave. But it’s that same knot that keeps him from picking up the phone when Liam’s name flashes across the screen, because the part of him that tells him that the article was right, that Liam was there with that person, that they hooked up, that Liam was maybe never serious about him--that’s the part that has power over him. So he ignores Liam, and barely gets any sleep from the anxiety eating him up. 

Niall and Louis have been sending him worried looks, as have other members of their tour team, which means Harry’s taken to hiding out a bit when he’s not needed, ducking in and out of rooms crowded with people, always with his nose in his notebook so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with people. He’s been writing a lot, too, though it’s mostly been songs about betrayal and heartbreak and longing, which would probably bum out their fans more than anything else. Still, it’s all he can get out at the moment, and it’s after he’s written the twentieth verse of “I would give you everything/would it mean anything to you?” that he thinks he might need to speak to Liam, if only to start to move on from this funk. 

It’s with that thought in mind that he decides to answer Liam’s call that night. Part of him thinks it can’t be _too_ bad, since Liam’s called him every night and left voicemails (that Harry didn’t listen to, of course), and he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t care, right? So Harry picks up on the final ring, seconds before it would go to voicemail. He doesn’t say anything, at first, which might be a serial killer type thing, but he also thinks he’s a bit justified to not speak to Liam immediately. 

“Harry?” comes down the other line, Liam’s voice sounding near frantic. “Are you there? You haven’t answered in days, babe, I’ve been worried.” 

“Why?” Harry asks, which is not how he expected to start this conversation. He wanted to be mad at Liam, to yell and scream, but instead he’s bewildered in the face of Liam’s worry. 

“Why?” Liam says, with an incredulous laugh. “Haz, you’ve been ignoring me! And you can’t deny it, either, because we talk, right? Every day. And you can’t just, like, ghost me like that. Not if we’re going to do this.” 

“Do what, Liam?” Harry asks, getting angry now himself. “What are we doing here? Because we didn’t actually talk about that, did we? We said we were taking it slow, it was a date when I went and saw you, but did you really mean it when you said that? Or were you just bullshitting so you could get in my pants?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Harry?” Liam shoots back. “Of course I meant it, is that really what you think of me? That I would just _use_ you like that?”

“What am I talking about? I’m talking about the _pictures_ , Liam!” Harry says, and his voice is raised now, on the verge of shouting down the line at Liam. 

“ _What_ pictures?” 

“The ones from the club!” Harry’s definitely shouting, all the pent up hurt and confusion and _rage_ coming out at once. “The ones where you’re walking out of a fucking club with your arm wrapped around someone else! The ones where they look like they’re fucking kissing you! When last week that was me!” Harry’s voice breaks at the end, and he shakes his head at himself, frustrated. He’s mad at Liam, he doesn’t want his voice to break, doesn’t want to let loose the tears building behind his eyes. There’s silence on the other end of the line, both of them breathing heavily now, and when Liam speaks again, he sounds a bit calmer. 

“Harry, whatever pictures you saw--it’s not what it looks like,” he says, and Harry scoffs, but Liam cuts him off before he can say anything more. “It _isn’t_ , I swear. My friend Zayn, one of my closest mates from back home, right? He came into town and we went out. He had a bit much to drink, and the paps were crazy, and that was it. I swear to you, Harry, nothing happened. Nothing would ever happen between me and Zayn, okay, he’s like my brother.” His tone turns nearly pleading at the end, and Harry feels his heart soften a little towards Liam. 

“Promise?” he asks, voice soft. 

“Promise,” Liam says fiercely. “But, Harry, we can’t just move on like nothing happened. You really thought I would do something like that to you?”

“No, I--maybe?” Harry says, shaking his head when his voice comes out like he’s asking a question. “I don’t know what I thought. I was just hurt, I guess, and confused, and I missed you a lot. And I let the articles or Twitter or whatever get in my head, which was wrong of me. And I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Liam says. “But, like, if this is going to keep going, we’ve got to get past that. Because we’re both in the spotlight. You think I don’t see articles about you dating other people? And it’ll only happen more once we’re together, because no one cares about a happy couple. So if it’s, like, going to be a problem, then maybe we should just..stop.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Harry says quietly, though he knows Liam’s right. It’s something that’s come up when he’s tried to have more serious relationships before, and the constant stress of being famous mostly caused those relationships to fizzle out before they truly got anywhere. “I meant everything I said when I was with you. Like, I want to give this a go, for real. And if that means having to deal with shit like this, then I’ll get better at it.”

“You don’t have to,” Liam starts, then pauses with a sigh before starting again, “you don’t have to get better at it. If this is something that upsets you, you can talk to me about it. Because, like, bottling it up won’t ever do good.”

“Right,” Harry says, and then he huffs a short laugh. “Liam, you’re quite good at relationship things.”

“One of us should be, yeah?” Liam says, and Harry laughs again. “Are we all good now?” 

“Yeah,” Harry says. “It won’t happen again. Or, like, it might happen again but I won’t just ignore you and then scream at you. We’ll talk about it. And I am sorry, for assuming things and not asking you. I think I’m a bit off my head because I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, Harry. Missed you more when you weren’t speaking to me,” Liam says, but barrels through when Harry starts to apologise again. “It’s okay, though. I think we just got through our first fight.”

Harry hums. “It’s a pity you’re not here for make up sex, though. That’s the most fun part.”

Liam groans. “Don’t start, Haz, not something you’re not going to finish.”

“Oh, I think we’ll _both_ be finishing,” Harry says, a smirk forming on his face. Liam laughs down the line. “What are you wearing?”

Liam laughs harder. “Stop, no, this is so embarrassing.”

Harry gasps dramatically. “Liam, have you never had phone sex before?”

“Um, no? Most of the time the person I want to have sex with is, like, with me.”

“Well,” Harry drawls, “there’s going to be a lot of times in this relationship where one of us is away, so maybe it’s time you learn. We can have lots of practice.”

Liam laughs, and Harry is so grateful he didn’t let his fears keep him from having this. He thinks he wants to keep it for a little while. 

*

Harry's been bouncing off the walls for the past two weeks, and he knows he's irritating everybody else, but he can't help it. Liam's coming to visit in three days, and Harry's actually not sure if he'll be able to make it that long. They've been better, since their talk, more sure of themselves and their relationship. They talk about more serious things now, like what their expectations are from this relationship, what they want from each other. Harry could barely stop smiling the day after Liam admitted to being as serious about them as Harry was. He got teased about it by the boys, and even the interviewer for that day mentioned it, but Harry just couldn’t help it. He actually could not remember a time when he’d been this happy, and he’s been living out his childhood dream for the past five years. 

Niall finally calms him down, bringing him down onto the couch in the green room and cuddling him into submission. Not that it’s very hard, since Harry’s always up for a cuddle. “You excited for your boy to come?” Niall asks, though the answer is fairly obvious. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, unable to keep his thrill out of his voice. Niall laughs at him, shaking Harry’s shoulder where he’s got his arm wrapped around him. 

“This guy’s different, huh? Never seen you like this about anyone,” he says, and Harry smiles a bit. 

“He is,” Harry says quietly, almost reverently. “I’m--I know it’s really soon, but I could see myself falling in love with him. And it’s not just, like, infatuation. I just really think he could be it for me.” 

“Are you sure?” Niall asks, looking concerned. Harry can’t really blame him; Harry’s been known to fall fast and hard before, and he’s ended up burned. He thinks that for so long he was captured by the idea of being in love, the idea of having one person who would always be there for him, who would always want him. Now, though, he actually thinks he might be staring in the face of that, and he’s torn between hiding away and running towards it full force. The latter urge seems to be winning. 

“I am,” he says to Niall. “It’s like, it’s scary but it’s not. It’s not scary because I know Liam will be there, no matter what.” He shakes his head a little, looking at Niall. “Does that even make sense?” 

“Hazza, you barely make any sense on a good day,” Niall says, laughing over Harry’s offended _hey_. “But, no, it sounds like he’s good. I’m excited to meet him. Lou is too,”

Harry snorts. “You’re excited to meet him because you’re both fanboys,” he says, deadpan. Niall looks back at him seriously. 

“I can’t lie to you, H, that’s exactly why we’re excited. Do you think he’ll sign stuff for us?” he asks, and Harry shoves him off the couch, laughing. 

Liam arrives a few days later, his plane landing while Harry and the lads are in the middle of a morning full of interviews. Harry feels his phone buzz with a text, probably Liam letting him know he’s landed, then again a while later, when Liam gets to their hotel. He knows Liam’s probably just going to crash, jetlag making him exhausted, but Harry’s already practically vibrating with excitement. He’s not going to see Liam until tonight, when Liam’s coming to see their show, but his giddiness is immediately visible to the other boys and, unfortunately, to the interviewer. 

“You look particularly happy, Harry,” she says, “any reason?” She’s obviously looking for something, for Harry to give her an exclusive she can put on her radio show--or maybe it’s a blog, Harry lost track. 

“Just really happy to be doing a show tonight,” Harry says smoothly. “We’ve always had good shows here in Chicago, so we’re looking forward to it.” He smiles peacefully at the reporter when he finishes, ignoring the snickering coming from Louis and Niall on the couch next to him. The reporter leans back like she’s disappointed, and they wrap up the interview shortly, Louis laughing out loud as soon as she leaves the room. 

“Haz, you’ve never answered a question in your life, and I love you for it,” he says, and Harry smiles at him, a bit distracted since he’s using the short break they have between interviews to pull his phone out and check the messages from Liam. Sure enough, they’re as Harry expected: one reads _**just landedddd**_ and the next reads _**at the hotel gonna take a nap cant wait to see uuuu**_. Harry smiles at the messages, tucking his phone away as the next interviewer steps into the room, and thinks the next few hours might be the longest of his life. 

The rest of the interviews and soundcheck pass with Harry somewhat in a haze, constantly glancing towards the clock to see when Liam will get here. Management had thought it best that Liam not come until the last moment, to avoid fans spotting him and causing a fuss. And, well, Harry can’t exactly say they’re wrong, but he’s still frustrated since his boyfriend is in the same city as him but not _with_ him and it’s driving him mad. He challenges Niall to a ping pong match to relieve some of his stress, but Niall calls it quits after only a few points, saying Harry’s being too aggressive. Maybe Harry nearly took his eye out with a hard serve, so what? 

He’s sulking--just a bit--on the couch when the door opens. “Come to finally man up, Horan?” he asks, turning towards the door. Only it’s not Niall standing there, it’s _Liam_ , and any more words die on Harry’s lips. 

“I’m not sure what that means,” Liam says, with a laugh. He steps further into the room, and that’s enough to unstick Harry from his place. He launches himself at Liam, wrapping his arms around Liam’s neck, and sending them crashing back into the doorframe. Liam hisses in pain, but Harry’s already kissing the noise out of his mouth, and then Liam’s kissing him back, and it’s like Harry’s in heaven.

“Missed you,” Harry mutters against Liam’s lips, leaning back in for another kiss, then another, then they’re fully snogging and Harry can’t think about anything else. Liam’s hands come down to rest on Harry’s hips, pulling him flush against his own, and Harry can’t help the noise that rises in his throat when he feels Liam’s dick, already half-hard against him. He moves his hands into Liam’s hair, gripping at it the way he loves to do, and he’s just about to move down to start biting at Liam’s neck when the door slams open next to them. 

“Well, hello, lads!” Louis says, and Harry pulls away from Liam to glare at him. “You must be Liam,” Louis continues, ignoring Harry and shaking a slightly dazed Liam’s hand, “I’m Louis, pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard lots from young Harold here.” 

“Um, yeah, hi,” Liam says, “I've heard lots about you too.”

“Louis,” Harry hisses, wanting to end this extremely awkward situation as soon as possible. He gestures with his head towards himself and Liam, the slightly compromising position they're still in. “Do you mind?”

Louis looks between them like he hadn't even noticed they were linked together from the waist down. “Ah!” he says brightly, and Harry wants to _strangle_ him. “Actually, sorry, Haz, but Lou needed you about ten minutes ago. Don't worry, though,” he says, pulling Harry away from Liam and then wrapping his arm around Liam's shoulders like they're best mates. He’s on his tiptoes to do it, Harry notices, and feels a bit smug about his height. “I'll take care of Liam here while you go get beautified,” Louis finishes, and Harry narrows his eyes. 

“Why can’t Liam come with me?”

“Because you can barely keep your hands off each other and Lou doesn't need to see that. Chop chop, now, she doesn't like to be kept waiting!”

Harry knows that Lou doesn't like to be kept waiting, and the last time it happened she had threatened seriously enough to chop Harry's hair off that Harry's fearful of her wrath. He pauses before he goes, though, looking at Liam, who's smiling bemusedly at him and Louis. “I'll see you in a bit, yeah?” he says, and Liam smiles, crinkly-eyed and all, and then nods. Harry blows him a quick kiss as he runs out the door, heading for Lou’s chair--and her _scissors_ , he thinks with a shudder--as quickly as possible.

*

The show that night is electric. Harry's not sure if it's the crowd itself or just knowing that Liam is _in_ that crowd, but he feels on top of the world, like he could do anything. He thinks the other lads are feeling it, too, based on the looks they share as they're singing. It's fucking amazing, and Harry almost doesn't want it to end, except the concert ending means that he can take Liam home. 

He does just that after they bound off stage at the end of the encore, fireworks exploding above their heads and inside Harry's as he presses his mouth to Liam's desperately. 

“That was incredible,” Liam says, tearing his mouth away. “Really, you were amazing up there.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, unable to help the side grin from stretching his face. “I'll have to come see you play, get the full experience.”

Liam smiles at him, tugs him in close. “Anytime, babe,” he says, then moves his mouth right next to Harry's ear. “You know, you're so fucking sexy when you're on stage? It was driving me crazy.”

Harry smirks at him. He might have gone a little bit overboard on the thrusts and crotch grabs tonight, but there was good reason for it. “Oh?” Harry says coyly, wrapping his arms around Liam’s neck, tangling his fingers in the hair at the base of his skull. He leans in close, until their lips are nearly touching. “It was for you,” he whispers, and Liam's hands grip his hips a bit harder. “I wanted to make sure you were watching.” Liam leans in then, pressing a searing kiss to Harry's lips. 

“I couldn't look anywhere else,” he says when he pulls away, and Harry almost melts when he sees the sincere look in Liam’s eyes. It dawns on him then that they aren't exactly _alone_ , just curled together in a corner of a hallway backstage. He grabs Liam's hand, starts pulling him towards the exit.

“Time to go now,” he says, looking back over his shoulder to see Liam watching him with hooded eyes. “If I don't get you in a bed soon I can't be held responsible for my actions.”

Liam snorts, crowds up behind Harry when they get close to the doors. He starts pressing kisses along Harry's neck, and Harry's helpless to do anything but lean back into him, even as the security are trying to usher them towards the cars. Luckily, Liam seems to have a bit more control over himself, and he guides them both into the backseat of a car, the driver pulling away almost as soon as the door shuts. 

Harry can barely remember the ride to the hotel when they pull up, too lost in the feel of Liam's lips against his, his hands running over his body, slipping under Harry's shirt to touch skin. They pull away from each other long enough to get into the hotel elevator, not exactly wanting to be written up for public indecency, but as soon as the doors slide shut Harry's trying to climb Liam again. Not that Liam's complaining. 

They stumble out on their floor, Liam moving away from Harry quickly to unlock the hotel door and pull them both inside. When they actually get in, finally alone for the first time all day, it’s like everything stops for a moment, and they just stare at each other.

After a beat, Liam holds his hand out to Harry with a wry smile. “Alright, Hazza?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, taking Liam's hand. There's not a lot of talking after that, both too preoccupied with kissing to say much else. 

They make it to the bed eventually, the frantic feeling from the stadium and ride over soothed a bit. Harry wants to take his time, he thinks, since it's been a month since he could _touch_ and _feel_ Liam. Even if Liam had warmed up to phone sex pretty quickly. 

Harry lost his white t-shirt somewhere in the front room of the suite, but Liam's still dressed, and that won't do. Harry's fingers work to unbutton Liam's shirt, pushing it off his shoulders without breaking their kiss. He pulls away after, running his hands down Liam's toned chest to rest at his waistband. Liam looks down at him, eyes dark, and licks his lips before he says, “what do you want, babe?”

“Want you to fuck me,” Harry decides, because they've got all the time for the rest of it later. Now, though, he wants Liam inside him, wants to feel it when he's on stage tomorrow, a reminder that Liam's there.

Liam smiles, leans down to brush his lips against Harry's. “We can do that,” he says, bringing his hand down to the fly of Harry's jeans. “These might need to come off, though.” He undoes the button, then starts on the zipper, only to stop halfway through and look up at Harry. Harry bites at his bottom lip to hide his grin. “Harry,” Liam says, voice slightly full of awe, “did you go on stage without pants on?”

Harry can feel the self-satisfied smile stretch his face. “Sure,” he says. “I usually don't wear them on stage, too restricting.” Liam lets out a noise when he hears that, something strangled that makes Harry smile wider. 

“You are driving me absolutely mad, Harry Styles,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “But I can’t say I don’t enjoy it.” He finishes tugging down Harry’s zipper as Harry lets out a laugh, then tugs the jeans down, needing Harry’s help to kick them off at the end. He crawls back over Harry’s body then, holding himself up with his elbows on either side of head. Harry brings his hands up, pushes some of Liam’s hair out of his face where it’s fallen with sweat. 

“How do you want me?” he whispers, spreading his legs a little more so Liam settles comfortably between them. Liam’s still wearing his jeans, the material rough against the insides of Harry’s thighs, but Harry can feel his dick straining against the fabric, pressed up against Harry’s. 

“Like this,” Liam says, leaning down to brush a sweet kiss on the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Wanna see you. Missed you.” 

“Missed you, too, Liam,” Harry says, then grinds his hips up a little to remind Liam just _how_ _much_ he’s missed him. Liam laughs a little, obviously getting the message. 

“Alright, then,” he says, kneeling up to get his jeans and pants off, then reaches over Harry to the bedside table where there’s some condoms and lube that Harry hadn’t noticed before. 

“Did you leave those out?” Harry asks, incredulous. Liam grins, giving Harry a slight salute even as he opens the lube and starts to pour it over his fingers. 

“I was a scout, Harry. Always be prepared,” he says, and Harry laughs, but it’s cut off suddenly when Liam brings his fingers down to brush at Harry’s hole. He rubs his fingers around in a circle, just around Harry’s rim, and Harry’s head falls back with a gasp. Liam’s teasing him, fingers just barely touching his hole, then moving away, then pressing in more insistently, causing Harry to dig his nails into Liam’s shoulders. 

“Li,” he groans out after Liam moves his fingers away yet again, “please.” 

“Please what?” Liam smirks, fingers still working. 

“ _Please_ ,” Harry grits out, “get your fingers in me.”

Liam leans down, pressing a kiss to Harry’s lips. “Since you asked so nicely,” he says, and then he presses a finger into Harry. Harry groans into Liam’s mouth, pressing his hips back down onto Liam’s finger. It’s been a while, so it burns a little, but Harry’s impatient. He’s been waiting long enough already. 

“More, Liam,” he mutters, and Liam smiles down at him, leaning in and biting at the base of Harry’s neck as he slips a second finger in, Harry’s head falling back onto the pillow at the stretch. Liam starts to scissor his fingers slowly, Harry’s hands gripping harder at his back. “Fuck, fuck,” he says, getting louder when the pad of Liam’s finger brushes against his prostate. “Oh, _fuck_ , I’m ready, I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” Liam asks, pulling away from where he’d been leaving a line of love bites across Harry’s collarbone. “It’s only two, babe.” 

“I’m ready,” Harry says again. “Can’t wait any longer, please, Liam.” 

“Okay, okay,” Liam says, half to himself, and he brings his fingers out of Harry to tear at the condom wrapper. He rolls it on quickly, then slicks himself up generously--normally Harry would tease, but he doesn’t even care, because right after Liam’s lining himself up and then the head of his dick is pressing against Harry’s hole. He presses in slowly, eyes never leaving Harry’s face, and he pauses whenever Harry so much as starts to wince. After the third time, Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Liam, I’m not going to break,” he says, and then he rolls his hips up to get Liam further inside, making the both of them groan. “So fucking _fuck_ me already.” 

Liam smirks down at him, a glint in his eyes like Harry’s issued a challenge. “If you insist,” he says, and then he pushes all the way into Harry on one long thrust, and Harry moans out, long and loud. After that, Liam sets a frankly punishing pace, and Harry’s glad they’re in some posh hotel room, because the bed can take it and isn’t making horrifying creaking noises. Harry’s making enough noise to make up for it, and it’s something he would feel embarrassed about if Liam wasn’t hitting his prostate nearly every other thrust. He’s getting close quickly, off the way Liam’s hands grip his hips, the way Liam’s making these noises like he can’t help them from coming out of his mouth. Harry reaches down, starts jerking himself to Liam’s rhythm, and Liam’s eyes focus on the movement of Harry’s hand on his cock. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he mutters, and Harry moans a little when his next thrust hits his prostate again. 

“You too,” Harry says when he gets his voice back. “I’m close, Li.”

If possible, Liam starts to move even faster at that, angling Harry’s hips so he can press in even deeper. Harry moans again, hand flying across his cock, and Liam’s voice sounds strangled when he says, “come on, come for me, Harry, do it, baby.” Harry’s body obeys, and he comes in long stripes across his and Liam’s stomachs, his head thrown back to let out a long moan that borders on a yell. If he was in his right mind, he might spare a thought to the quality of his voice for the show tomorrow, but he can’t be bothered when the waves of ecstasy are still crashing over him.

Liam’s still thrusting, though he looks close as well, and it only takes a few more strokes before he stiffens and comes. Harry can sort of feel it through the condom, and he wonders what it would feel like without one; his dick gives a slight twitch at the thought and he sets it aside to bring up another time. For now, he’s happy to press kisses to the side of Liam’s face as he rides out the last of his orgasm, then lie with him as he fully comes down. “That was amazing,” he whispers, and Liam nods against him. 

“Fuck,” he says, pulling back a bit to press a kiss against Harry’s mouth. “I think you are, without a doubt, the sexiest person I’ve ever met.” Harry laughs, then winces a little as Liam pulls out. 

“Right back at you,” he says, and Liam shoots him a grin as he walks into the en suite, disposing of the condom and cleaning himself up before bringing a towel out to do the same to Harry. “And such good aftercare, as well,” he says, once Liam throws the towel out of the way and crawls on the bed, pulling Harry into his arms. “I think I’ll keep you.” He says it teasingly, but he means it 100%. There’s something else he wants to say, too, but it might be too soon. He keeps it in his mind for now, but he knows it probably won’t be long until it slips out, not if he and Liam continue as they are. 

“I think I’ll let you,” Liam responds, and something in Harry tells him he means the same thing Harry was thinking. He curls into Liam, resting his head on his shoulder, and falls asleep feeling safe, kept, and in love. 

*

_3 months later_

Harry doesn’t really pay any attention to football news, even after he and Liam have been dating for several months. He usually keeps up with the scores when Liam’s playing, and he’s gone to a few matches now, worn Liam’s jersey and screamed his head off for him, but generally that’s the extent of his knowledge. So he doesn’t know that the transfer period has opened until Liam mentions it one night on FaceTime, Harry in his flat in London, Liam back in Manchester. 

“I wish you were here,” Harry pouts, even though he knows Liam can’t. It’s hard enough for him to travel during the season, and Harry would usually go up to stay with him but the band is on a mini promo tour and need to be in London so they can be on all the BBC radio shows tomorrow. So Harry’s left pouting, actually in the same country as his boyfriend for once but not able to be with him. 

“Me too,” Liam says, but there’s something off in his tone. There has been for most of their conversation, like he’s thinking about something else, distracted. “Listen, Haz, what would you say if I said I could be there right now?” 

“What?” Harry asks, confused. “What do you mean? You can’t, you’re playing a match in like two days.”

“No,” Liam says, laughing a little and shaking his head. “That’s not what I mean. Like, hypothetically, how would you feel about me moving to London?” 

Harry’s still confused, and he furrows his brow, even as he says, “I would love for you to move to London. But I’m not sure how that would happen?” 

“Well,” Liam says, smiling wider now, “Arsenal might have reached out to me with an offer to transfer.” 

Harry sits up in bed, his mouth dropping open. “Are you serious? Oh my god, Liam, that’s amazing! Are you going to take it?” 

“I don’t know,” Liam says, but the grin on his face shows his own excitement. “Like, it’s hard, because Man City has been my club for so long now, so it would be hard to leave. But, Arsenal has a great program, too, and it’s closer to you, so. I’m torn.” 

“Liam,” Harry says softly, a smile stretching his face, “you don’t have to move just for me. I mean, I would love to have you closer, but it’s your career, babe. You shouldn’t make the decision just for me.” He knows, already, that if Liam does decide to transfer, there will be articles about it being down to Harry’s influence. But that doesn’t make Harry want it any less. 

“It’s not--it’s not just for you?” Liam says, voice shifting up at the end like a question. “Like, that’s definitely part of it, I’m not going to lie. I want this relationship to move forward, and I don’t really know how it’s going to do that if we’re never in the same place at the same time. But the move would also be better for my career, you know, Arsenal is a bigger club, and they’re offering me more than I get here.”

Harry nods, taking in the information. It sounds amazing, Harry can’t lie. He would love for him and Liam to live in the same city, for them to maybe live _together_ , to be able to make that move forward. “It’s up to you,” he says, “but I would be really, _really_ happy if you came to London.”

Liam grins, stretching his face wide. “Then I guess I’m coming to London,” he says, and Harry smiles so big his cheeks hurt. 

*

_and another 4 months after that_

They’re visiting Harry’s family for the weekend, Harry on a deserved break from touring and Liam off training, so they decided on a little weekend getaway. Which would all be well and good if Liam hadn’t taken Harry out of the house early in the morning and not let them return.

“Li, I thought this trip was so I could actually _see_ my family,” Harry complains after the fifth time Liam denies Harry’s suggestion to head home. 

“C’mon, Haz, I want to see more of the town,” Liam says, checking his phone quickly. That’s the other thing: Liam had been distracted all day, constantly looking at his phone but refusing to say anything when Harry asks. 

“Fine,” Harry says, only slightly huffily, and turns to lead Liam down another street.

Maybe twenty minutes later, Liam checks his phone again and smiles before asking if Harry wants to go home. Harry narrows his eyes at him, suspicious, but acquiesces all the same because his boots are starting to pinch and he would really love to be curled up on the couch in his Mum’s house as Liam gives him a nice foot rub.

His dreams of getting comfy in his pajamas are dashed, though, when they walk through the door and Harry finds out why Liam’s been acting so shifty all day. Inside, the house is full of people milling around. It’s Harry’s family, but it’s also Liam’s, and Louis and Niall are there, and so is Nick and Harry’s friends from London, and Julian and Jeff and John are off on one side, and some of the players on Liam’s team that Harry’s close with are there too. It’s a room full of all the people that Harry loves, and Harry turns to Liam with a questioning look in his eyes.

“Surprise,” Liam says, just for Harry. “I know you always feel like you’re not given enough time on breaks to see everyone you want to, so I thought I’d make it easier for you.”

Harry blinks rapidly, fighting off the tears forming in his eyes at the surge of love he feels for the man next to him. He leans in and gives him a kiss, trying to push all of his gratitude out through the action. “I love you,” he whispers when he pulls back. “Thank you.”

“I love you, too,” Liam says with a smile. “Now go on.” He gives Harry a slight push towards the group, heading into the kitchen and returning shortly with glasses of wine for the two of them. 

Liam stays by his side all night as they make their way through all of their family and friends, chatting and catching up, even when they sit down to eat the dinner that apparently Anne and Karen have been cooking all day. When their plates are clear and Harry is feeling warm and full and so very happy, he tucks his face into Liam’s neck. 

“Thank you for this,” he says, lips brushing against Liam’s skin. “It’s perfect.”

“I’ve got one more thing to show you,” Liam says, standing and reaching for Harry's hand. He leads him out of the dining room and towards the back door before pulling him out into the back garden, and Harry gasps.

Strings of fairy lights are hanging from the trees, and there are candles placed along the ground strategically so that the whole yard is lit up in a golden glow. Harry steps forward, taking in the way Liam has transformed his mum’s house, before turning back to his boyfriend. And sees that he's down on one knee.

Harry gasps again, hand flying to his mouth, eyes on the small velvet box in his hand. Liam opens his mouth, but Harry cuts him off. “Yes,” he says wetly, tears pricking at his eyes.

“Hazza, I haven't said anything yet,” Liam laughs, and Harry shakes his head, a short sob escaping his mouth.

“Sorry, sorry, go ahead.”

“Okay,” Liam says, taking a deep breath. “Harry, I knew from the moment I met you that you were something special. And the longer we're together, the more I realize that ‘special' can't even begin to encompass how kind, caring, sweet, dorky, sexy, maddening, and absolutely _wonderful_ you truly are. I feel so, _so_ lucky every day I wake up and know that you're mine, and I want to feel that way for the rest of my life. Harry Styles, will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” Harry sobs, and he practically tackles Liam to the ground, kissing him over and over again until they’re both a mess of tears. Harry pulls back finally, still crying, and wipes his nose on his sleeve before he sticks his left hand out, shaking slightly. “Put it on.”

Liam laughs, his own eyes a bit misty, and opens the box. A fresh wave of tears hits Harry as he lays eyes on the ring, a silver band with a small yet prominent emerald in the center. “Matches your eyes,” Liam mumbles as his fingers reach in to take the ring out. “There’s, uh, our initials carved inside, too.”

“I love it,” Harry says, letting out a little sob as Liam slides it into place on his finger. “I love you. Fuck, I can’t stop crying.” He laughs a bit hysterically, and Liam laughs too, leaning in and kissing the tear tracks on his face before capturing his lips once more. Harry falls into the kiss, and he vaguely hears the back door of the house open.

Louis sticks his head out. “Did he say yes?” he calls, and when they turn to him and nod, he turns back inside and yells, “He said yes!”

There are cheers from inside, and then all their friends and family are pouring out into the backyard and Harry starts crying all over again when he sees his mum. He’s not sure he’s ever going to stop crying, because he gets to call Liam his _husband_ and spend the rest of his life with him.

“Hey,” Liam whispers, bringing Harry’s attention back to him. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Harry whispers, leaning in for a kiss. 

_Instagram post by Harry Styles, 00:18 GMT_ [Image description: a black and white photo of the backyard at Harry’s mum’s, clearly taken through a window. The yard is covered in fairy lights and candles, and in the middle of the image Liam is down on one knee, Harry standing in front of him with his hands over his mouth in a gasp.]

_**@harrystyles**_ : I said yes. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, you can find me on tumblr [here](http://foliealou.tumblr.com) and the fic post (with all the art) [here](http://foliealou.tumblr.com/post/176210970761/morfiends-all-my-reckless-dreams-all-my)


End file.
